A short story
By Warren Skinner
The boy climbed on the husk of a tall, rusted metal man. He didn’t know if these things could move but he imagined it as a friend. He could see it now: walking beside him in the harsh barren wastes. Its cyclops camera zooming in and out, head pivoting to scan the horizon for danger. Would it punch them into a crater of dust, or would it fire laser beams from its singular eye?
The thought was exciting. He wound himself up with energy just imagining it, swinging back and forth from its outstretched arm like a jungle gym. Losing his grip, he tried pulling himself up, and fell flat on his face. He mouthed a silent expression of pain as he sat himself back upright. Rubbing his cheek, he felt the dryness of his throat.
Water? He could use a bit of that now. It had been about a day since he drank anything, come to think of it. He rose to his feet and searched the distance for any signs of that life-giving elixir. Trees might be good. Ruined buildings would be better. If people lived there, they had to have water, shouldn’t they? Nobody could live without water, right?
Scratching at the scar on his throat, he could spot remnants of a town to the northwest. That’s the ticket! A brisk walk rolled into a light jog, slowing as he neared. Perhaps there were monsters? Ducking behind a wall, he scoped out the surroundings of the burnt out shack. Could throw a rock and see if anything moved at it. The stone whizzed about ten feet before stopping stock still midair. Poop. One of those air lock things. He didn’t know a better way to describe them.
He shimmied a bit to the other side of the wall, repeating the rock trick. Nothing. Waited a second to see if a wolf or something would respond. No dice. Seems clear—then he spotted a small shingled roof that way, half-collapsed but promising. Getting closer, he could see a pulley bucket over a beam. Jackpot! Well, well, well- exactly, a well!
Reeling in the big one- OOF! He slipped and fell in. Yuck! Knee deep in the wet stuff. Oh well. He stooped to scoop a slip of sips. Something shiny under the surface. He picked it up. A white golden rock.
He fumbled, dropping it in the drink. He—felt it talking to him? He could’ve sworn it gurgled… —then he picked it back up.
It giggled. The voice was warm.
[Can’t say I talked to a rock, or no-one- before.]
[A what? Can’t say I heard of those either.]
[Warships are cool I guess-]
<-WORSHIPPED. Admired.>
[Oh.]
[Well, you do have a nice voice.]
He began climbing up the water table to get out of the well. Spluttering and spitting water from his mouth as it rushes in. Making good time, LAND HO!
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He stood up before taking a soggy bow.
[Nothing.]
The boy shakes off the well water like a wet dog.
[What would you call me, then?]
Hero froze after his head turned to the ruined town. Laid out before him, dotted all over are spectral visions, like ghosts he never saw before. He stepped back. They were moving towards him!
[The heck are those?]
[Protect you? From what?]
{YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD TO US.}
Shouts from the soul rabble. Voices slammed into his mind—
{FUCK IT, TAKE HER! SHE LEFT US ANYWAY. LEFT US TO ROT HERE.}
Then more crashed in—
{SHE ABANDONED US, CHAOS WON!}
{THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO, YOU INEPT PUP!}
A spirit lunged, its claws trailing cold mist, jaws gaping in a silent snarl as it approached! Hero narrowly dodged, bobbing away with an instinctual punch directed at its face, the ghost fizzling into mist.
The masses descended upon him, enraged, and ready to kill the boy and the god that betrayed them. Spectral hands clawed from all sides, cold as frost, voices shrieking in his skull—
{YOU’LL ROT HERE WITH US!}
The largest among them, warped by chaos, A hulking figure parted the mob, its soul spiked with black tendrils, eyes burning an unnerving red. The village elder. His soul was surrounded by the faint shimmer of an air lock aura, the smallest hint before rocks, bricks and other ruined objects littering the ground shot at Hero like bullets.
{CHAOS REIGNS. THERE IS NO HOPE.}
Hero did his best to avoid harm, a rock grazing and cutting his cheek. A brick slammed into his ribs, winding him as the tendrils reached his legs, creating an air lock that glued his feet to the ground, dragging his body down as he lost his footing.
Desperate to live, Hero followed the order to the letter, he slapped his hand to the tendrils, willing them still—a sharp pop, and his feet broke free as the anomaly disappeared. He rolled away from the elder and regained his stance before jumping back to approach him.
He grasped the elder’s hand softly. It calmed, the tendrils freezing and falling to its sides. They spoke, soul to soul.
[She didn’t do this to you. She loves you.]
{Why? Why did she let this happen? We lost so much…}
[She’s still here. She’s with me. We want to help you all!]
{How? What can a child do?}
{...the glimmer of hope. You have not abandoned us, dear lady. You are a victim as much as we are.}
The tendrils of the elder’s soul shrank and shriveled, the other spirits watched and took notice, moved by hearing the whole exchange.
[We’ll come back for you.]