On nights like this one...restless summer nights, there would be the listless flipping through magazine pages, the impatient tapping of fingernails on polished glass table-tops, the loud sighs...The blades of the ceiling fan would scoop up bundles of hot oppressive air in a bear-hug...huffing and puffing in the act. Dry throats would drain the water tanks dry...Soaking wet shirts and blouses would lie face-down on prespiring backs, clinging on helplessly, refusing to let go...The nagging whine of a neighbouring air-condition would make the mercury level leap and dance...Plastic chairs cooling on the balcony after a searing afternoon in the sun, would glow a menacing red and black- a challenging glint in the eye inviting bravehearts to have a seat! The stench of burnt earth would overpower...Burnt Earth...Burnt foliage...Burnt flesh...Burnt All ! Water would break in refridgerators; a blinding flash of pain followed by silence...Metal pipes would melt, slithering sliding slipping down the sides of buildings, scraping off sheets of cement and paint with their scaly bodies, bubbling and frothing at the mouth, emmiting final exhausted hisses of defeat. The moon would turn a fine shade of orange, the spots on its face erupting into chagrined craters of seething anger....The world would gasp for water....buckets and buckets of water....Fire-engines would come charging down the streets...tubes of Burnol would be squeezed on with theatrical immediacy......
And yet....
At the end....
The industriuos Cook would still think it much more palatable to shove the platter containing the Earth swimming in red wine, into the steaming oven....!
