Limited Edition

         When you literally lose your legs halfway down a street, it's very embarrassing. To be quite frank, I didn't expect to be in town today anyway. That didn't matter, I was very excited. Here's what happened...

         I woke up that morning, the same as any other day. I had a not-so-large breakfast of four bowls of cereal, three slices of bacon, half a plate of scrambled eggs and diced mushrooms and three glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.
         Hey, I know what your thinking, 'How could he survive? He must be wilting away!' Don't fret, it's usually more.
         After my breakfast I checked the mail, my Bugs Bunny slippers slapping the floor hurriedly. I was expecting a parcel, a limited edition graphic novel hardback! Oh the anticipation of reading the next instalment of 'The Wandering Cloudman' was almost too much to bear. Cloudman had supposedly learnt a new vanishing trick in that instalment.
         Instead of a parcel, there was a note on the floor, it read;

         Dear Mr Marton,

         We apologise for the inconvenience, but as you weren't available, and the parcel was too big to fit in your letterbox, it is waiting at our nearest Sorting Office
         We look forward to your arrival,
         Signed,

         The Post Office Team

         Within minutes I'd hauled my chubby arse upstairs and had taken off my Star Wars pyjamas and Darth Vader dressing gown.
         I struggled a bit to find the perfect clothes for picking up the novel. I wanted to look my best when picking up this most valuable of gifts.
         I threw my marvel alarm clock out of the way to grab at my DC Comics T-shirt.
         My bedroom was dimly lit by the light in the corridor. The Transformers wallpaper complimented my awesome attire. I had a full-length mirror but, unfortunately, I was too wide to use it.
         I do admit, looking in this pathetic excuse for a mirror, I am slightly round...like a planet. But then, were not the Roman Gods named after planets? Maybe it was just the jacket I was wearing.
         I finished off my look and, slinging on my cowboy hat from the Lone Ranger collection, I rolled-sorry, ran- out of the house.

         I charged into the local Sorting Office, squeezing my 'big-boned' backside through he entrance, almost crushing an elderly couple next to me. Who cares anyway? If they knew they'd sacrificed their lives in aid of Jack Marton and the 'Cloudman, they wouldn't have minded. Not at all.
         Not looking back, I marched up to the parcel collection point and stared down at the tiny post-lady behind the thin glass. She was trembling like the last leaf on a tree in autumn.
         "Marton," I growled, enjoying her fear, and handed in my parcel slip. She nodded timidly, her glasses slipping down her face, and hobbled off to get my parcel.
         ..8,9,10 seconds before she returned, holding my box of precious paper. I snatched it away and ran off, leaving the old lady feeling quite faint and in need of a lie down.
         I pushed my way out of the Sorting Office and started to waddle down the street when I began to feel funny.
         I hugged my parcel, shaking my head and closing my eyes, as if I could shake off any illness or headache I had. I looked down and did a double-take. My Iron Man trainers were smoking, no, not smoking, steaming. I bent down and tried to undo them, but I couldn't reach past my belly. I swore I usually could.
         I kicked my trainers off and stared at them expectantly, hoping to see what it was that was making them smoke. No, sorry, steam.
         They'd stopped almost instantly, so I looked back down, now at my Star Wars socks. Steaming. I repeated the process I'd done with the trainers. They, too, stopped steaming.
          looked incredulously at my bare feet. Steaming. I moved where I was, in case I was standing on something that was causing this gas but, no, it was my feet. Or half-feet now, as they'd been steaming so long they'd begun to wear away.
         Soon, as I'd been struck dumb at my feet's spontaneous combustion, there were no feet, and the steaming had moved over to my ankles. The strangest thing was that I was still standing somehow. I hadn't fallen due to gravity. Thinking I was either becoming a fat rip-off of 'The Wandering Cloudman' or I was just going insane, I walked on down the high street, carrying my parcel and then my socks and trainers on top of it. I was silently apologising to 'Cloudman' for this most heinous offense of resting my footwear on him.
         The rest of my shins steamed off, and then my knee caps with a POP!
         I was beginning to get weird looks from those I passed on the street. No wonder, I was steaming hot!
         Before I knew it, the rest of my thighs had 'gone gassy', in fact, I only realised when my trousers fell off, through the cloud of my legs.
         This made me think. I couldn't feel it. The weirdest feeling was that of no feeling.
         I picked up my trousers and Superman Y-fronts. By this time, everyone was staring at me.
         "What? Have you never read 'The Wandering Cloudman' graphic novel collection before?" I asked the dumbstruck crowd. They sniggered as a form of reply. I saw red. I aimed a kick at a dog close to me, but my leg went straight through it! More laughter. One little girl with a red balloon at the front of the crowd said loud and clear,
         "Tubby needs to cool off." An uproar of tyrannical, side-splitting howls erupted.
         I felt hot, but not in a good way this time. I was sweating steam. I remembered hat heat rises just before I actually did.
         I soared up and up. The wind was stronger out of the protection of the buildings. It dragged my gaseous bottom-half across to the Town Hall. I landed on the domed roof and sat down, out of the public eye, at least. I was now a big, fat, clothed, pink ball with arms that steamed constantly.
         I stared down at my parcel. I was going to wait until I got home, to savour it, but circumstances changed. Not to mention the fact that I was literally fading fast.
         I clawed desperately at the parcel's wrappings, my fingers beginning to steam. Nothing else mattered but the parcel. The wrapping came away. It was a box. I glanced at it, just before belching out a lungful of fumes. That was everything but my head gone now. I tilted myself to look at the box. 'Maybe it is complementary gift wrapping' I thought hopefully.
         The box had a picture of woolly socks on it. Five pairs. There was a note.

Dear Jack,

Happy Birthday,

Lots of love,
Mum xxx

         I'd hoped too much for the 'Cloudman' and I'd got him. Just not the way I'd wanted. Instead I had socks, five pairs, which I couldn't even pick up. As my now complete cloudlike body floated off with the wind, I thought sadly, 'be careful what you wish for'.
         I searched for someone to rain on.