A Savage Life

I catch up with Damien, who is about a good two miles away from where I saw the mutants, ready to relish in our victory. I pulled the motorcycle up beside Damien, who was sitting down on the ground, rummaging through the bag of delectables he had acquired, and parked it.

In all honesty, this motorcycle was like any in 1986, only with neon lights and some extra buttons that could do anything. I was curious about them, but my gut instinct said that there was a Self-Destruct switch somewhere if things had went wrong for the man. And well, drum roll please, it did. The motorcycle immediately burst into flames, then it exploded, breaking the boulder Damien and I had hid behind into a measly pebble.

Well, at least I did manage to salvage a few guns, and Damien had that bag of goodies I couldn’t wait to see, in hand. I stare at the charred mark where the explosion had left it’s mark, then I look at Damien, and despite my pain, I laugh.

I laughed so hard I cried. In fact, I laughed so hard I had to take a much deserved break before I came back to the blank stares of Damien. He blinked at me and silently handed me the bag.

“I’m sure you’ll find this bag useful.” he said at last. Oh I’m sure I will. This bag is heavy and I hurriedly open it up out of childlike excitement, and immediately, it died as quickly as it could, and was replaced with a different emotion as I saw the trash he found.

Damien almost gets me killed and the only thing he has to show for it was glass mugs! Glass mugs! Glass mugs! GLASS MUGS! Confound it!

I get up and I start beating the heck out of Damien the best I could. I may have broken my leg and shattered a rib, but I didn’t feel a thing as I started to plow into the man. If I could look at myself in a mirror right now, I probably have red eyes and sharp teeth.

When I get through with him, he’s now missing several teeth, I broke his nose, and I hope I gave him a concussion. Perhaps I beat the sense back into him, time would only tell, if I was lucky. Damien hatefully looks up at me with his swollen eyes, spite engulfing his face.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he snarls. “Why don’t you just finish the job?”

“Is that a challenge?” I reply back to him coldly.

It sounds like one definitely. He’s done enough for me that I could just strangle him out here and just leave without giving two darns about it. The only thing that’s stopping me from doing so right now is that I’m tired and the pain of my broken bones has caught up to me.

I am serious; I could never fathom even remotely meeting a waste of air like Damien in my entire lifetime. I’ve seen house dust accomplish more than he has. I spit on him and turn around to catch some fresh air, carrying all the weapons with me so that way he doesn’t shoot me like a coward when I turn my back.

Sometime later, I find myself a rock and sleep on it, as far away from Damien as possible, because I can’t stand him, and he (I wish I was making this up, really) howls like a wolf in his sleep. Like a lost, forlorn wolf. I take off my shoe and throw it at him. He startles himself awake screaming ow as if he’s been shot. Poor baby. I’ll leave him here tomorrow to rot. To heck with him. To heck with these broken bones that has made both breathing and sleeping a challenge. To heck with the WHOLE DARN FUTURE!

The next day I wake up to Damien beating the crap out of me. He’s kicking my face, spitting on me, profanity greeting me at every turn. Then he stops enough to help me.

“Revenge.” he murmurs.

I was too hurt to do anything more than gasp and moan. Damien is healing me, but he’s doing it roughly, like it’s intentional that he wants to see me in pain. Listen, I know beating the living heck of him was a little too far, but stay one day with him, and pretty soon you’ll do the same. I wonder how many teeth he’s knocked out. When he finishes bandaging me up (Wherever in the world did he get that from?), he kicks me a good one, knocking me out.