Martin Forrester awoke at precisely 5am that morning, aware that at some time during the night he had decided to make this his last day.
Spangle, his big fluffy white cat jumped up on to his bed and began to knead his right shoulder, prring rhythmically. Any other day Martin might have turned over and gone back to sleep, but not today. Spangle chirruped in conversation as she followed him dowstairs. In the kitchen Martin provided her with a bowl of warm milk.
He looked out from his kitchen window at what promised to be a mild, perhaps even sunny day, on impulse he picked up the phone and dialled his office.

"I'll be in tomorrow," he told them. "I'll explain then."

They didn't seem to care if he turned up or not, and by tomorrow it wouldn't matter anyway. Martin smiled to himself. He was not unattractive, with short brown hair, only slightly receding, and dark brown eyes. He considered himself a fit thirty eight physically anyway. He had recognised a faraway expression whenever he looked in the mirror lately, and paranoia spoke volumes about his late fathers' final battle with senility. How long had it been now, three months, four days and eight hours?

Martin looked at his watch. He counted every day, every hour, every minute, aware of time passing by. He was a partner in a firm specialising in printing diaries and calendars. Each year had become a blur, beginning and ending in a sea of marketing hell.

Now that today had finally arrived, Martin found that suddenly he didn't want to count every minute any more. Each moment was precious and he clung to it like a drowning man, but he didn't want to simply feel it as passing time, he wanted to experience it, he needed to know he was alive.

Martin got dressed and then visited every room in the house and threw away every clock and watch he could find except for his Father's sliver fob watch. That he laid in its box at the bottom of a deep drawer, where it could tick away unseen until it finally wound down.
After this task, Martin put on his coat and went out. Any other day he would have had a quick breakfast, then left the house already late for work, driven at breakneck speed, and battled through the day with always one eye on the clock until it was time to come home again. Not today though.

Martin sauntered through the quiet streets of his neighborhood. A few times in the past he'd woken up early and heard the dawn chorus of the birds, vaguely through sleep and net curtains. Now they sounded loud, tuneful and above all happy! Why? How could a flock of birds with no discernible language sound happy to the undiscerning human ear? Martin pondered on that and decided it was because they were always busy, never bored.

"Does that make them superior to us?" he asked himself, and decided not. Birds had less problems. Yes, they were prayed on, yes their habitats were disappearing, but they didn't have other worries like money, like time.
It occurred to Martin that birds sing to welcome in the new day. He'd also heard them sing in the evening and he knew the reason for that as well.

There was a park at the end of his road, though it was locked until 9am, the gate chained up with an large padlock. Undeterred by this, Martin threw away his inhibitions and climbed the gate. He jumped down on the other side and ran over the dewy grass to the lake. He let out a huge whoop, then he threw himself into the lake fully clothed.

"Oh my God!" yelled a female voice with a nasal american accent. A woman appeared from the far side of the lake and pelted up to the water's edge. She was in her mid thirties, pretty with shoulder length brown hair. She wore red leggings and a yellow woolly jumper.

Martin gave her a wave and tried to smile, but a ripple lapped his chin and he spluttered and floundered a little.

"Hang on!" the woman cried, ripping off her jumper and ploughing into the chilly water.

Martin stood up. The water came to just above his knees. He grinned down at the woman who got to her feet looking aghast. "I...I thought you were drowning you know?" she dripped.

"I know. It was really nice of you to try and save me though. Thanks."

"Don't mention it ."The woman protected her modesty with her left arm and held out her right hand. "My name's Maria, I'm from Detroit. I guess I thought you were the park attendant until..."

Martin was charmed. "Really? I've never met a real live, not to mention naked American before, er sorry, that sounds stupid doesn't it?"

Maria smiled, started to giggle, stopped and bit her lip, then burst out laughing. It was infectious. They both stood in the lake rocking with laughter.

"I'm going to wet myself in a minute," gasped Maria as she and Martin dragged themselves out of the water.

"At least no-one' will notice."

"No. Say, you must think I'm pretty crazy, wipping of my top for a guy taking a paddle!"

"You weren't to know."

Martin carefully studied the sky whilst she restored her jumper to its rightful place. "Besides, no-one has ever tried to save my life before."

She smiled, understanding. "Why did you? Jump in the lake I mean, if you weren't trying to ...you know..."

"I just wanted to do something I'd never done before." Martin sat down and began to remove his shoes and socks, squeezing out water and silt. "The long and short of it is that this is my last day."

Maria looked blank. "Your last day? Doing what?"

Martin only smiled.

Maria was on a working holiday, taking photographs for a travel firm and for a hobby. She made Martin pose dressed only in a towelling robe, standing in his tiny kitchen with Spangle clamped firmly in his arms. When they were both dry and warm once more, they went out together.
As they walked, they spoke in light touches of fingers brushing wrists, but soon he caught hold of her hand and held it firmly, striding along. When it rained they stood as close as they could get and Martin revelled in the icy tingle of each unique raindrop on his skin. People stared at the strange couple clenched in the middle of the mid morning high street crowd. A few cars hooted, a few wolves whistled. When the carbon monoxide fumes threatened to overcome them they dived into a cafe for shepherds pie and lemonade.

"It's kinda strange, but I feel as if I've known you all my life," said Maria, leaning her elbows on crackling, sugar encrusted formica. "Maybe I saw you in a photo once, or used one of your diaries. I could have carried you around in my pockets for years and never even known it!"

Martin laughed and felt it resonate through his body. He smelled her perfume mixed with coffee and frying bacon.

"Let's go and take beautful pictures," he suggested.

He left the waitress a large tip.

Evening came at last and Maria's bag rattled with used up films. Old people on street corners, young people on benches smoking roll-ups. A man pasting up a bill-board sign advertising government health warnings, some children playing tag on motorbikes.

Martin had insisted on taking one picture. They had come across a roundabout in the road. The local council had planted it with daffodil bulbs, and Martin had seen something funny in this. He told Maria all he could of a half-remembered poem, then made her lie among the host of golden daffodils, almost hidden amongst their shining cups as they gently waved in the vibration of heavy goods vehicles.

As the light drew in they stood again at the water's edge. This time a fast flowing river. They listened to it bubbling and hissing as it reached a nearby sluice, underlying rocks clacked and ground together making the water sing.

"There's a club nearby I've heard of," said Maria, "Called The Dawn Chorus. We can dance all night and into the morning if we want..." she searched his face. "Betcha never did that before huh?"

He said nothing for a moment but looked into her eyes and breathed deeply taking in the night time aromas. His ears filtered in the sounds of her voice, distant traffic and somewhere in the middle distance some birdsong.

"They're singing their last songs," he explained to Maria. "For them, today is always the last day. They see the sun going down and think its gone forever. That's why they sound so happy in the morning, and make such good use of their days."

"But we know better." said Maria.

"Which is why we make assholes of ourselves and never get anything done."

Maria reached up and stroked Martin's cheek with an outstretched forefinger. "I quite like you Martin Forrester. I think I've made good use of my day. Thanks to you."

"And now," Martin gathered her close. "We should go and make good use of the night. You never know , it might be our last." They kissed and walked away, hand in hand.