Rupert had lived here for over a year now. he loved this place. It was quite the picturesque dwelling he'd been looking for. On days like these, when was sun at its peak and the sky a clear blue, fields spread as far as the eye can see only disturbed by the random placement of sheep. He would often spend several hours on those fields. Reading, writing maybe even a little painting though he understood he lacked the knack for it.

The journey home was a peaceful stroll passed the elegant abodes of his neighbours, most of which cheerily greeted him as they tidied their extremely neat gardens with various tools. Jevington Close was for the rich and retired. Its residents were largely upper class and proud of it, like Mr Cleasen of number 24. He would frown upon Rupert’s manner and idiom, glaring at him tight fistedly through his glistening monocle. In the past, this type of thing would enrage Rupert, who believed that no man was more significant than another, though he got satisfaction from the way in which Mr Cleasen merely sat, day to day, observing his neighbours with disgust. Quite frankly, Rupert thought of Mr Cleasen as a "sad old sod" and thus, he bared little significance in the tranquil calm that was now Rupert’s life.

As per usual, Rupert walked up his steep driveway toward his manor-like house with a smile and a certain sigh that comforted him. Jaffa, his boisterous boxer dog, pounced as he entered through the arching wooden doorway, he returned the affection. Unlike most of the inhabitants of Jevington Close, bar Mr Cleasen, Rupert wasn’t married, and never had been. Like many without a significant other of this sort, his love was channelled toward and equally loving pet who merely asked to be fed and watered once in a while.

The sun was now beginning to cease on this most blissful day as Rupert and Jaffa sat on the decked area of their humbling garden, casually eating tiger prawns served with some kind of soy dip. As a child Rupert had only ever dreamed of a life like this. He looked upon the fields ahead, layers of pastel greens danced over one another under the fading but beautiful blue. His eyes became heavy, as they often did around this time. Rupert gently dosed off with his feet up on the oak table ahead, while Jaffa lay tranquil under the oak.

Leaping from his chair like a bewildered animal, Rupert awoke. A bellowing crash had startled him conscious, but he had awaken from an obscure delirium. Jaffa howled, leering behind him like a small child. His vision was fait and blurred. It was dark now. Perhaps the midst of night. Jaffa yelped again spinning himself around in confusion. Rupert rubbed his eyes, they were beginning to adjust. He knelt, trying to comfort Jaffa who quickly cowered away, sneezing and growling as he stumbled back. Then, from the crook of his vision, came a sharp glimmer of light. He turned fiercely toward the disturbance. His eyes grew wide as the sky glowed a fantastical yellow like something he‘d seen in an old movie once. Thundering toward the fields ahead, gargantuan glowing objects thrust upon the ground producing creators with their fall. He ferociously rubbed his eyes again in disbelief as another fell, imploding the ground beneath.

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