Brighton 21-01-2029

On another dark, miserable day, the rain fell hard on the streets of Brighton. A tall male dressed in black entered a limousine. “Are you OK sir?” a computerized voice asked from the driver’s seat. “Fine, lets just get this over with.” the tall figure responds. “Traffic is relatively clear today and we should arrive in approximately twenty-five minutes, sir.” The chauffeur figured robot remarked in his monotone voice as the engine started to rumble.

As the black limousine slowly made it’s way through the narrow streets of Brighton, the tall figure started rummaging through several pieces of paperwork, most of which were schematics for new designs with the RMR logo at the head of the page. The last piece of paper the tall figure turned his attention to is full of scribbled notes and is indecipherable to any sane person. The limousine turned onto a long main road and distracted by the movement the tall figure turns his head slowly to work out where they had reached. His sombre expression showed that they were not far now. “We have just reached Old Shoreham Road, sir.” A voice from the driver’s seat explained and the tall figure nods and turned  his attention back to his notes.

Once the limousine reached the entrance of Hove Cemetery, a well dressed man opened the door of the vehicle. The man of about 40 years old held out an umbrella to shield the tall male from the rain that had shown no remorse on such a day. “Mister Cloud, my condolences. Our collective hearts are heavy with sympathy on this day.” The words of the well dressed man could barely be heard over the relentless weather, but as the two shook hands the tall figure responded saying “Thank you for your kind words, but please, call me Henry. Mister Cloud was my father’s name.” Henry took the chrome handled umbrella and made his way through the trench-like grass which appeared to be a thick brown sludge, rather than its well maintained green it was accustomed to.

Henry unzipped his long black coat as he stepped into the Victorian chapel and hushed words were muttered as Henry took his seat. There were only forty or so within the small chapel and the service began as the Reverend Paul Johnson started by welcoming those who were present. After the service, a few close friends of the late William Cloud had the opportunity to give short speeches in his memory. Henry did not recognise many of these people, but as soon as one friend began to talk of his departed father’s love of Eleanor, Henry became extremely interested. He had never learnt much about his mother who passed away giving birth to Henry and his father could never talk about her.

Slowly standing up, Henry made sure his tie was straight and made his way to the stand. Turning to face everyone, he reached for the indecipherable notes and began to read. “Thank you to everyone that could be here today. I know that my father would have loved the service. Many people know who my father was, they will see his name every day and will forever remember the work he completed. He was committed, loyal and above all, a genius. But behind the work he was also a great father and a role model.” Henry started weeping as he tried to compose himself, tears struck the notes he was reading from and his hands began to shake. Screwing up the now useless notes, Henry looked around the room. “Death is an inevitability, but that never makes it any easier. So, I ask each of you right now to think of your most fond memory of my father. Keep that image clear and hold on to it. No matter how insignificant that memory may seem, just remember him for who he was and not what he is now.” Silence fell across the room as Henry bowed his head, his mind was filtering through all the memories of his father like a search engine looking for results. A smile rose from Henry’s forlorn expression and with that thought, Henry made his way back to his seat.