A Savage Life

I cannot even begin to tell you how grateful I am to finally be out of that canyon. It’s the greatest relief I’ve ever felt since the moment I first got here, and I know that comfort is in short supply here. The people of Ferris looked like they had lived a really hard life based on how sickly they looked, and their worn out faces. Their houses even spoke of their hardships without even speaking a word of it’s current residents, if any were found within it’s nailly comfort. The people of Junktown looked as if they had suffered just enough to be tired and complain about their bad back and how hard work was that day, but at least the entrance to their town didn’t look like it was waiting to smash someone flat. The people of that laboratory I escaped from don’t even look like they really need a reason to complain except when the caviar ran out, or they were late to their massages. I can remember how Sabine looked old and tired, as if he had worked for a week without sleep, and Damien, I don’t know if I really care about what his past was, or do I? He had that Middle Ages tired look about him, but it was obvious he was somewhere in his thirties, based on his constant, annoying vigor, but adult-like build. He also lacked the pretentious middle-age spread I’m getting, and the middle-age experience I have.

Sasha was only four years old, forced to flee her home, and probably hasn’t had a decent meal or a wink of sleep in a while, and you can see it in how her little self looks war-torn and covered in dirt, her innocent eyes glazed with the atrocities of the world, but without any real understanding of why.

I wonder what I look like. I probably look pale, tired, old, covered in goosebumps and coarse hairs, I know I have a few scars on my hands from the work I’ve done in my lifetime, but I, with no doubt in my mind, look broken, bloody, and dirty. Probably even rougher than Lana’s bunch of rag tag siblings that had really looked as if they had been through the ringer, but such thoughts are for girls, only they care about their appearance, flittering around the makeup parlor like annoying gnats to a tomato that has been left out on the table. But then again, I should be worried, there’s been many a man in my time that has been killed strolling into some place bloody and broken.

I lived in a preferably safe time, but sometimes, we don’t like to take things too lightly, they could’ve been a thief on the run who got his upcomings, and if you can run to a house, you can talk, and if you don’t, you raise suspicion, and that’s why those men died. I, on the other hand, may only get a word out and be shot, or be shot where I stand based on where I’m at, and there certainly isn’t any makeup parlor to spruce the likes of me up either. But at least I-CRASH!

And the ground shutters and explodes beneath our feet, lifting us up and tossing us around like waves on the ocean. We tumbled and fell, injuring me more than I already was. Sasha was crying again, and Damien was screaming his head off. The only thing I could do was curse and shout out spirals of agony as my body started to hate me again, and it was going to go on forever. Then I hear my ankle crack and scream. Following the pain, I feel something wet go down my face, emptying itself from my eyes.

What is this strange, long gone feeling? The last time I had ever felt this feeling was when I was ten and had accidently clipped the entire end of my finger off playing with my father’s pocket knife.

Like I said before, my parents were there, but not all the way for me, so when I came to my father crying and showed him my wounds, he just looked at me like I had said the most random thing and said, “Go bug yer mother ’bout it.” When I came to her, she just sighed, rolled her eyes, and said, “You got what you deserve for playing with a pocket knife.”

By then, I had a trail of blood from our living room to my parent’s bedroom, and the pain was really starting to get to me. I could’ve died right then and there, and only my brother and my neighbor would’ve noticed, who my brother promptly took me to.

I was in the hospital for two days, and this negligence had waved the attention of the police, who went to arrest my parents, who went on vacation because I gave them a hospital bill to pay like it was my fault. Well, in a way it was, but how could I know? The only thing my folks taught me was how to sigh and be a deadbeat under the same roof of my children, only I took a different route, but never before had I experienced the pain of snapping a bone, or hearing the sickening crunch of it flapping endlessly in the wind, unable to control itself.

Not a single day in my life, and I knew what it’d look like- a bone would be flopping around the insides of my skin and my leg would become useless, which, other than Damien, is a liability I cannot have. And now I panic.

When the earthquake ends, I am still panicking because #1, my ankle hurts so bad. #2, I am now useless as I can’t rely on Damien to do anything right without messing it up or running away screaming his head off. Sasha’s only four, so what can she do? #3, I am in a legitimate state of weakness, I am susceptible to anything out here, be it disease, a mutant, or a wild animal, and even worse, Tarold Greysing.

I bet he’s probably sitting comfortable, laughing away with the sips of his martini, watching me struggle through a monitor. I bet he just loves this. Well Greysing, if you want a show so bad, I’ll give you one.

I take off my shirt, trying to save my jacket the best I can, and carefully rip only a slimmer of fabric off of my shirt, but my hands are shaking so bad, I rip it two. Wow, I bet I’ll never accumulate that amount of strength again when I really need it.

Cursing my luck, I make due with what I have, wondering if Damien has any more of those bandages left. Then I decide against it, thoughts like those will only make me wonder, and I’m in no condition to hyperventilate over it because I already feel faint enough without stirring the pot anymore. Then I remember Sasha. Sasha!

I frantically turn my head around looking for her, and I see her standing up crying, but otherwise, unharmed. My fatherly instincts kick back the pain in my ankle, and I stand up to investigate her, comfort her like any father should, and when I do, I’m amazed at the landscape, and it draws my attention to something even more diabolical awaiting us in comparison to a snapped ankle and Sasha’s cuts and bruises.

You know how those earthquakes in Japan split the ground in two, now imagine that, but instead of a gigantic crack in the ground, a hole the size of Mount Rushmore has taken it’s place. This makes another time I’ve narrowly evaded death, this time by whatever the heck made that hole in the ground, and I’m not too keen to find out, until I see Damien taking off, with Sasha in his arms, crying, down the crater to whatever death trap awaits us down there.

I’m going after him, but not for him, for Sasha. She doesn’t deserve the fate Damien will get.

Immediately, I take off after her, then tumble and fall down the crater because I put pressure on my snapped ankle instead of the other and forgot there was a cliff there like an impulsive idiot. This newfound pain is only a reminder of how careful one should be with Damien around.

When my descent into the crater sooths out, I grasp my ankle in pain, and then start placing the pieces of my ripped shirt on it, knowing I can’t go on without the ankle support, nor will I get a chance to address it again, or rock back and forth nearly bawling.

When I finish bawling, addressing my ankle, and otherwise trying to regain a state of manliness, I call after Damien several times, and then I stand up and do the Angry Father Hobble towards the direction he took off it.

My ankle hurts like nobody’s business, but as far as I’m concerned, Damien will share my pain, except I’ll break BOTH of his legs to keep trouble down. I’m making progress now that I hear talking, and then my body leaps into fear as that burning sensation of urgency takes my throat and chokes me into reality. I sincerely hope that Damien’s not talking to who I think he’s talking too; Tarold Greysing. But does the man’s voice sound like that? I never really got a good earful during our last meeting to know his voice by heart, but even then, I’m sure his voice doesn’t sound like it’s a confused, emotionless being.

I’m serious, I- I’m broken away from my thoughts when I hear Damien screaming, “I don’t know my own name! I don’t know my own name!” And then Sasha starts squalling, no doubt because she was left next to a stranger while Damien goes off to scream, and drum roll please, here comes The Screamer now.

I catch him before he mows me down to the ground, and then I, with all my strength, thrown him to the down on the dirty rocks as hard as I can and leave him there. I get close enough to the stranger to see that it’s both a he, and that there is a burning spacecraft the shape of a needle right behind him, plus the fact that he’s dressed in pilot clothing from Amelia Earhart’s time, and he’s got Sasha in his arms.

“Hey,” I scream at him, making the man turn his head at me, only when he does it so slow it’s creepy. “Hey! Put her down, she’s mine!”

He puts her down, but he doesn’t relinquish his hand from hers, nor does Sasha look like she’s in any kind of peril at the moment. In fact, she looks so serene, you would have thought that they knew each other on a deeper level. All I see is a flashing sign that screams, “Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger!”

I was told when I was little by my father, “Strange people means strange danger. Don’t get near anyone ya don’t know.” That was my Stranger Danger Speech. I never knew what he meant until a girl, a member of a rival school’s cheerleading team, was walking home one night, and well renowned serial killer stalking the area picked her up, and well, her body was discovered floating in a lake two weeks later. Not only did that stop me from being the most manly cheerleading captain of my school, but also prompted my quick run in with the mob, who I did not realize was the mob until much, much later. Now that I am confronted with Stranger Danger From Beyond All Logic, there is only one thing left to do- pull out my gun and point it menacingly in his direction (not that it would do me any good).

The strange man didn’t even flinch! Odd, given the fact that when a gun walks into a room everyone stands to attention. This guy... this guy looked unmoved. His face was stale, as if he was deaf of all emotions. His hands laid by his side, his feet were almost glued together. After a moment of this, he began to place one foot in front of the other, walking towards me.

“Hello,” he said as he crossed across the imaginary line I had set before my mind in the dirt before I shoot him. “I suppose that you are the father of this wonderful creature?”

He sounded so calm, so welcoming, it was making it hard for me to keep the gun in the air. I hope he didn’t see how wobbly my hand felt. But then again, did I really want Sasha to see a grown man die in front of her, she was only four? I could recall seeing tons of people die in front of me growing up, and to say that it made my psyche healthy would be like saying that staying on the couch 24/7 drinking Coca-Cola and beer and eating nothing but potato chips and chocolate chip cookies for an entire year was cleansing for the body. Well, maybe it is. I’ll never know, that’s for sure.

He still approached me before he got into my space bubble, something that was less than appropriate for the situation at hand. When he got close enough to breathe my air, my hand no longer shook with fear, but more with defensiveness.

“If you come any closer to me I’ll shoot you.” I warn sternly.

“In front of the small child?” the man asks me curiously, and immediately I drop my gun in defeat for some unknown reason.

Normally, in situations like this, I don’t have tag-along-four-year-olds in the vicinity, but as I have spent more time here, I have become more and more aware of the situation at hand, which is a funny, little, manipulative man that crashed from a space needle challenging me to see if I really would shoot him in front of a little girl.

“There is no need to keep that gun in the air,” the man finally spoke at last after a lost, menacing pause, the longest several seconds of my life, and believe me, I’ve been in moments similar to this. Sort of. At least I knew my enemy was human then. “I could not be mistaken from your stature that you would never deliberately spill life-giving blood in front of children. This knowledge gives me plausible reason to say that you pass my test and now, you shall not become another name upon the ever expanding roster of the deceased.”

“T-test?” I stutter out.

“Yes, it is protocol on the planet Iciga of the galaxy Red Portal to see if there is any disreputable characters awaiting us wherever we go. It is half the reason our race has flourished. It is the other half the reason we travel to see what kinds of organisms inhabit specific Biosystems around the Solar System to debunk a possible plan of diplomacy.”

“So...you’re not here to kill me, or kidnap Sasha?” I say carefully, only realizing that I mistakenly admitted the name of my four year old companion- which was as smart as the move this one kid pulled on the mob while I was in it. He wasn’t exactly the brightest kid in my neighborhood.

“Neither,” the strange man responded hastily. “I am Readoldd Lixocte and I shall state my purpose with the young child.”

He looked at Sasha and gave her a smile. Sasha smiled back and all I could do was draw back my lips in a sneer.

“This child,” he continued. “Is an evolutionary advancement of my people,” Oh Lord are we in for trouble now! “And as such, I am here to protect the remainder of my advanced colonized race on this hostile planet like others before me on other planets.”

“So... you’re trying to protect the last of your kind here,” I ask slowly, eyeing Sasha like she had just emerged from the ground. “Doesn’t that make you an alien?”

Readoldd blinked at me smiling a smile that does not make me cringe, for once. I don’t think he knew what I meant.

“Ya know, a space man. Someone from outer space.” I iterated for him. He smiled once more.

“Of course, I should explain further,” he bowed. “I am an extraterrestrial being, but I am not the last remnant of the original makers of our predecessors. Sasha, if that is what I may call this little girl, is most certainly of Red Portalan genetic makeup, albeit, changed to adapt to the hospitalities of the environment she had been bred in. After all, it does take a few tries to ensure a species does not lack the skills, or education, they need to adapt and survive.”

He sounded so calm when he explained that I was afraid those people who guard Area 51 were going to pop out of the sky and arrest me, arrest Sasha, arrest this....alien in front of me, arrest Damien (Which wouldn’t be half a bad idea), and then throw me in a brig of some kind until they can milk me of all the information I know about Readoldd. I was not about to let that become me so I asked him once, cold venom in my voice, “Why are you here then?”

Readoldd never got to speak as Damien returned screaming his head off. At first I couldn’t make out what he was saying, until I saw a pack of what looked to be gigantic frogs covered with fur and big, floppy beagle ears racing to catch up with Damien’s flying feet. I knew Sasha and I were in for trouble if Readoldd decided that his skin looked better on his body and threw us out to the wolves....or wolf-frogs.... or frog-wolves...or maybe frolves...oh never mind.

Those wolf frog things are fast on their feet and they were getting close enough to taste Damien. I don’t know whether to help the screaming amnesiac or help the wolf-frogs catch their dinner. Both alternatives were enticing and the window of decision was closing in on me fast, so instead, I stand there looking incompetent as Damien proves himself as useful as ever by diverting their attention to, drum roll please, me. I guess they figured that a meal without moving vocal cords and a stouter body was much better, and given that if I was in their position, I wouldn’t blame them. I’m a pudgy drumstick; all I’m missin’ is the barbecue sauce and soda.

I leap out of the way of the pack, effectively dodging a few, and catching Readoldd tackle one down and wrestle it into a choke hold! I don’t believe it! I just watched the new alien on the block wrestle down some mutant wolf-thing like it was a habit. I don’t know whether to cheer him on or stand here with my mouth agape in pure awe. Instead I choose the latter and stand here encapsulated by the sheer brutality and kickrear that is Readoldd before I remember that I have a gun! I can shoot stuff with this gun of mine! Wake up you dolt! Don’t just stand there, get the gun and fire a bullet!

I dance my muscles a few feet after the gun, ignoring the determination of the wolf-frogs to eat Readoldd, and Damien just standing there, looking dumb, and making sure I know where Sasha is before I make my move. A running bullet is hard to beat, and once it’s out of it’s chamber, I better hope I’m as good of a shot as the Lone Ranger because if Readoldd is bulletproof, and if those dark thoughts nagging me in the back of my mind are correct, Readoldd will turn around and try to kill me. I don’t want to fight him, based on how he cracked a wolf-frog’s back in half over the palm of his hand. If he’s on my side, then that means that we can work together like a team and actually thrive here more than just barely scraping by by the skin of our teeth.

By the time I pick up my gun, check to see where the bullets are in their chambers, and look up, Readoldd has already polished off the last of the wolf-frog pack. Thank the Lord up in Heaven that we only had a small pack to face. But if anything, I am awe-inspired by Readoldd. I could only dream to go that far in my battles. To be flawless in combat like that and get my fights over with! Not doing what I do and eat the gravel of my opponents every time I freaking turn around before I ever actually accomplish anything.

Readoldd looks at my astonished face and says, “Oh, many apologies dear Wandering Salesman,” Wandering Salesman. Where did that come from? What was I selling? Thin air? “Did you want to kill them instead?”

I blink at him and stutter, “Oh...I...uh...I don’t really...know?”

My voice got progressively low as either my ego, or the distance between us, got smaller. Wow, you don’t realize how intimidating aliens can be until you watch them single handedly crush a pack of mutated wild animals like they were falling dominoes.

“What are those things?” I asked.

“I believe they are called louphibians.” Damien explained. Oh, he can remember what those things are called, but when it comes to speaking like a normal human being and remembering his name he freaks out like he’s been set on fire.

“What’s next,” I mutter. “Centaurs?”

Readoldd cocks his head to the side and relishes, “I believe that you are fondly mistaking reality for fantasy. If you would like, I can pull up a database of the history of centaurs and prove your fastidious thoughts false.”

I thought I was going to like Readoldd, but if he was going to do that the whole trip, I might just sneak away from this Bring-Along-Mental-Asylum with Sasha in the middle of the night. And if he was going to go that route, I had a very good question that needed asked before I proceeded any further.

“How do you know about Earth’s mythology,” I exasperate. “You just got here!”

“There are no faults to be had when studying the history of the planet you are about to pronounce as your next destination.” Readoldd replies.

Well, that kinda makes me ashamed because I never really put in the effort I should have when I was in school. Maybe then I could have become a lawyer, or a surgeon, and not here, surrounded by aliens, four years olds, and idiots, missing my wife in a wasteland all have forgotten; none want to be part of.

I stood there speechless. Readoldd looks up and hums, “You are going through a phase of silence, very well then, it will allow me to make a prognosis of my accompanying companions.”

Prognosis? Here we go again with those big words. Wait a minute! Did he just say companions? Who said I wanted another companion? If things keep going like this, I could have enough people to erect a town (Not that I would want to erect a town in the first place), or worse, be mistaken for a mobster again. I did not want to join the mob again, nonetheless, be a mob boss.

I slowly move my mouth, trying to think up of an idea to say, something not even I was aware I was going to do in the first place, when Readoldd stands up, pats my head and picks up Sasha and places her on his shoulders. He turns to me and says, “I know of a place where we can find refuge for aliens. I would like to escort us there if I may.”

I stand there, mouth agape, unable to form an answer for his words. Instead, Damien speaks for me, by sticking his fingers into the back of my throat, gagging me, and then going, “I think Josh says yes.”

I swear I’m going to bite off Damien’s fingers. I swear! I swear! I SWEAR! I clamp my jaws down on Damien’s hands, making him yowl so loud, Readoldd spins around, poised to attack, his eyes giving off a supernatural glow until he realized that it was just Damien and I just doing the normalcy-biting off the hand that annoys me. Readoldd’s eyes shift from me to Damien and back again as Sasha giggles on his shoulders before he turns around and mumbles, “Your companions are quite the comedic ones aren’t they.”