The sun baked hard down onto Trevor’s back. He knew he should go inside but he could not force himself to move. Trevor was of fair complexion and could feel himself slowly turning red as he lay in his garden. He had started off reading a tacky crime novel which he had bought for the beach but he had then fallen asleep, for how long he had no idea. The thought of taking a watch or any kind of time piece into the garden with him did not appeal. So there Trevor lay slowly cooking into a raw red mess!
Story #39 was pulled out of Drabble #2 by the request of the writer.