...And You’re Miles and Miles from Your Nice Warm Bed
Posted: Tue Jul 16, 2019 12:41 pm
((Mike Brown, continued from Steady As She Goes))
It didn’t take a genius to realize a guy was lost if he’d been walking for hours on end through bush and bramble without seeing another soul. As such, Mike wisened up to the fact that he was probably real lost, sorta real quickly. He’d gone after Connor, even used the air horn a couple of times as a signal, but nah. Nope. Nothin’ at all. A real big oof, to be sure, but he could deal.
Probably.
He tugged at the collar around his neck as he continued walking, the heat of the wild becoming more than just a little uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t that Mike didn’t like heat- in fact, he enjoyed summer a great deal more than winter, seeing as how the big C was real humid, but this was different. Maybe it was just the fact that they were all being told to kill each other, but for whatever the reason, he still felt a little bamboozled. The collar wasn’t tight, nah, but it was still pretty shitty to have it ‘round his neck all the time, a reminder of the fact that he was well and truly fucked. Idly, he wondered if the collar’d pop if he pulled hard enough. Not that he tried, but it was still something to think about.
As the trees slowly started to fade out, faint outlines of houses popping up in the distance like whack-a-moles, Mike didn’t really know how to feel ‘bout the fact that the only sounds he hard close to him were voices and gunshots, all backing instruments to whatever hellhole of a melody this was turning out to be. Sure, he’d heard people, maybe even a voice or two that sounded pretty familiar, but the last glance at his map a couple of minutes ago confirmed that he’d pretty much been heading the opposite way of the waterfall.
Frowning at the thought, he stepped over a fallen log with as much grace as he could muster, pulling out a plastic water bottle from the numbered bag. Like, it wasn’t as if most of the people he’d woken up and gathered with for a bit were bad, really. Connor was good, great actually, and Gina was just fine, but Matt was a bit of a douche and Amber was...someone he’d rather not have the pleasure of seeing for the rest of his life. Was kind of a jerky thought to have about a bro’s girl, but it was also the cold hard truth, and Mike wasn’t about to go sugarcoat all that shiznit.
Light sips were all he took as he continued walking, sneakers crushing the grass beneath. Like, he’d kinda lost them, but there were still people here to find that’d help, right? Baseball peeps, Dante, maybe even Diego or something if the lil’ guy hadn’t shriveled up into a corner somewhere. Just had to find that shining star, that guiding point, something to focus his mind on other than death, death and more death. Like living, or something.
...Was it bad that here, of all places, he was still deciding whether he really wanted to go home?
Like, on some sorta moral level or whatever, yeah, of course, ‘cause he’d never want to make Ma and Pa cry like that, but he also kinda hadn’t even decided what he was gonna do in college, other than like hopefully other dudes, so what was he meant to do?
He kept walking. The trees began to get bigger now, and oh, yeah, he wasn’t really walking on a path anymore, he’d been walking on grass earlier (and now) because there wasn’t anything else to walk on, which was real swell, but in any case, his trek continued. Towards something, he hoped. The something didn’t really matter, not really, but it just had to be there. Keep him pushing forward, focusing on the ache of his muscles, the pounding of his chest. He was finally putting in more work outside of practice. Coach would’ve been proud.
Coach was, Mike knew, not with them in any kinda way besides maybe as a ghost, but he could still find his peeps, try to get some kinda direction. Still trekking, path emerging and trees just a little less...less, he felt it. There was gonna be something. Something that’d help him finally do something, and it was gonna be okay.
“The fuck?”
A wrapped thing lay just a bit ahead of him, smelling faintly like something rotten and looking greatly like something dead. All around were those rice farming things, the ones Ma had showed him pictures of when tryna encourage him to “rediscover half of his DNA” and all that stuff, but all he could focus on was the figure, and the bag that lay next to the figure.
The one that looked a lot like the bag he was holding right on his shoulder.
Suddenly, the warm summer air seemed to turn ice cold, but all Mike could do was walk forward, slowly, inevitably. He kinda had to know, didn’t he? It was awful, good God, it was fucking crazy that someone’d do this, but his inner hunger for knowledge, something that had kinda gone neglected over the past couple of years, was starving. Had to find out what was going on. Had to see who exactly this unlucky bastard was, maybe even mutter some kinda prayer. Left his bags by the dry part of the plain.
He stepped closer now. He was four, maybe five steps away. Another step, he could see the cracked head peaking out of the bundle. ‘Nother one, he saw the brown, blood-covered hair. The sorta receding hairline, the sleeveless hoodie, the-
“B-buddy?”
Mike stared, mouth agape just like, well, a guy who just saw the dead body of one of his closest friends, eyes almost as motionless as the ones he was staring into. Frozen still, horror, shock, all etched onto his face, wide open eyes seeing nothing.
Slowly, his eyes started something wet, something trailing down. He wiped them, tried to reorient himself, breathe, but it was like a big ass foot was stomping on his heart and- Abel was dead. Dead. Done, dusted, done for. Really, really done for. Abel, all set to go for the big leagues, captain crowned, laying there, just like that, while he, Most Spirited awardee, undecided forever, was the one still breathing, the one still living,
There was something massively fucked up about that. Abel had a girlfriend, Mike had a long list of guys he was never, ever gonna ask out, Abel had a scholarship, Mike had a lifetime of student to go and try to repay or something, but the one still here was him. Mike was sure Abel hadn’t thought about trying to tug on the thing ‘round their necks until it blew, probably fought until his last breaths but again, he was the one way up there.
The wetness started again, but this time Mike knew what he was gonna do. He didn’t have much, not really, but he could at least try to do something, right? Find the baseball dudes, find a way out. Find out who did this? Maybe, nah, but at the very least, Mike’d found someone to follow, even if it was only their ghostly-ass footprints.
Crouching down, he dipped both index fingers in the mud, and under each eye, painted a straight line sideways. It was cold, dank, really, the feeling of it in his skin, but it helped him focus, stay steady. Just another game day ritual, a good luck charm charm even if he really wasn’t gonna see a lotta action. He was kinda ready now, ready as he’d ever be, and so he blinked again, take out the last traces of the-fine, tears from his eyes.
He stood up, took one last nod at Abel, did the sign of the cross. Mom would’ve been happy with that. He hoped Abel’d be, too.
Walking over to his bags now, carefully, trying to get as little mud on his jeans as possible, he put them back on his shoulders, and set off.
Wasn’t a lot of direction in his walking, even now, but there was purpose, sorta and that was enough. Didn’t know how much he could do, but he ‘spose he could give living a try.
Owed him that much, at least. Right?
((Mike Brown, continued in Sink or Swim, Better Dive Right In))
It didn’t take a genius to realize a guy was lost if he’d been walking for hours on end through bush and bramble without seeing another soul. As such, Mike wisened up to the fact that he was probably real lost, sorta real quickly. He’d gone after Connor, even used the air horn a couple of times as a signal, but nah. Nope. Nothin’ at all. A real big oof, to be sure, but he could deal.
Probably.
He tugged at the collar around his neck as he continued walking, the heat of the wild becoming more than just a little uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t that Mike didn’t like heat- in fact, he enjoyed summer a great deal more than winter, seeing as how the big C was real humid, but this was different. Maybe it was just the fact that they were all being told to kill each other, but for whatever the reason, he still felt a little bamboozled. The collar wasn’t tight, nah, but it was still pretty shitty to have it ‘round his neck all the time, a reminder of the fact that he was well and truly fucked. Idly, he wondered if the collar’d pop if he pulled hard enough. Not that he tried, but it was still something to think about.
As the trees slowly started to fade out, faint outlines of houses popping up in the distance like whack-a-moles, Mike didn’t really know how to feel ‘bout the fact that the only sounds he hard close to him were voices and gunshots, all backing instruments to whatever hellhole of a melody this was turning out to be. Sure, he’d heard people, maybe even a voice or two that sounded pretty familiar, but the last glance at his map a couple of minutes ago confirmed that he’d pretty much been heading the opposite way of the waterfall.
Frowning at the thought, he stepped over a fallen log with as much grace as he could muster, pulling out a plastic water bottle from the numbered bag. Like, it wasn’t as if most of the people he’d woken up and gathered with for a bit were bad, really. Connor was good, great actually, and Gina was just fine, but Matt was a bit of a douche and Amber was...someone he’d rather not have the pleasure of seeing for the rest of his life. Was kind of a jerky thought to have about a bro’s girl, but it was also the cold hard truth, and Mike wasn’t about to go sugarcoat all that shiznit.
Light sips were all he took as he continued walking, sneakers crushing the grass beneath. Like, he’d kinda lost them, but there were still people here to find that’d help, right? Baseball peeps, Dante, maybe even Diego or something if the lil’ guy hadn’t shriveled up into a corner somewhere. Just had to find that shining star, that guiding point, something to focus his mind on other than death, death and more death. Like living, or something.
...Was it bad that here, of all places, he was still deciding whether he really wanted to go home?
Like, on some sorta moral level or whatever, yeah, of course, ‘cause he’d never want to make Ma and Pa cry like that, but he also kinda hadn’t even decided what he was gonna do in college, other than like hopefully other dudes, so what was he meant to do?
He kept walking. The trees began to get bigger now, and oh, yeah, he wasn’t really walking on a path anymore, he’d been walking on grass earlier (and now) because there wasn’t anything else to walk on, which was real swell, but in any case, his trek continued. Towards something, he hoped. The something didn’t really matter, not really, but it just had to be there. Keep him pushing forward, focusing on the ache of his muscles, the pounding of his chest. He was finally putting in more work outside of practice. Coach would’ve been proud.
Coach was, Mike knew, not with them in any kinda way besides maybe as a ghost, but he could still find his peeps, try to get some kinda direction. Still trekking, path emerging and trees just a little less...less, he felt it. There was gonna be something. Something that’d help him finally do something, and it was gonna be okay.
“The fuck?”
A wrapped thing lay just a bit ahead of him, smelling faintly like something rotten and looking greatly like something dead. All around were those rice farming things, the ones Ma had showed him pictures of when tryna encourage him to “rediscover half of his DNA” and all that stuff, but all he could focus on was the figure, and the bag that lay next to the figure.
The one that looked a lot like the bag he was holding right on his shoulder.
Suddenly, the warm summer air seemed to turn ice cold, but all Mike could do was walk forward, slowly, inevitably. He kinda had to know, didn’t he? It was awful, good God, it was fucking crazy that someone’d do this, but his inner hunger for knowledge, something that had kinda gone neglected over the past couple of years, was starving. Had to find out what was going on. Had to see who exactly this unlucky bastard was, maybe even mutter some kinda prayer. Left his bags by the dry part of the plain.
He stepped closer now. He was four, maybe five steps away. Another step, he could see the cracked head peaking out of the bundle. ‘Nother one, he saw the brown, blood-covered hair. The sorta receding hairline, the sleeveless hoodie, the-
“B-buddy?”
Mike stared, mouth agape just like, well, a guy who just saw the dead body of one of his closest friends, eyes almost as motionless as the ones he was staring into. Frozen still, horror, shock, all etched onto his face, wide open eyes seeing nothing.
Slowly, his eyes started something wet, something trailing down. He wiped them, tried to reorient himself, breathe, but it was like a big ass foot was stomping on his heart and- Abel was dead. Dead. Done, dusted, done for. Really, really done for. Abel, all set to go for the big leagues, captain crowned, laying there, just like that, while he, Most Spirited awardee, undecided forever, was the one still breathing, the one still living,
There was something massively fucked up about that. Abel had a girlfriend, Mike had a long list of guys he was never, ever gonna ask out, Abel had a scholarship, Mike had a lifetime of student to go and try to repay or something, but the one still here was him. Mike was sure Abel hadn’t thought about trying to tug on the thing ‘round their necks until it blew, probably fought until his last breaths but again, he was the one way up there.
The wetness started again, but this time Mike knew what he was gonna do. He didn’t have much, not really, but he could at least try to do something, right? Find the baseball dudes, find a way out. Find out who did this? Maybe, nah, but at the very least, Mike’d found someone to follow, even if it was only their ghostly-ass footprints.
Crouching down, he dipped both index fingers in the mud, and under each eye, painted a straight line sideways. It was cold, dank, really, the feeling of it in his skin, but it helped him focus, stay steady. Just another game day ritual, a good luck charm charm even if he really wasn’t gonna see a lotta action. He was kinda ready now, ready as he’d ever be, and so he blinked again, take out the last traces of the-fine, tears from his eyes.
He stood up, took one last nod at Abel, did the sign of the cross. Mom would’ve been happy with that. He hoped Abel’d be, too.
Walking over to his bags now, carefully, trying to get as little mud on his jeans as possible, he put them back on his shoulders, and set off.
Wasn’t a lot of direction in his walking, even now, but there was purpose, sorta and that was enough. Didn’t know how much he could do, but he ‘spose he could give living a try.
Owed him that much, at least. Right?
((Mike Brown, continued in Sink or Swim, Better Dive Right In))