Marooned

by Travis Smith

  “Yessir, yessir. Fanxel’s down in a big crater-like dip. Keeps the scene pristine from that unsightly lot.” He waved a hand across the horizon in front of him to emphasize his point.

  The Baron rolled his eyes and made no other reply.

  “So he looks like yerself, ya say?” Boss asked again as the group made their way at last down the sloping desert toward the prison.

  “Never one to sport a clean-cut face such as my own, but otherwise a fair match,” The Baron replied.

  “I think I know jus’ the one,” Boss assured him for the tenth time since leaving the shore.

  The prison sounded to be in an uproar as they trundled through the filthy barracks that surrounded it. When they arrived at the prison’s center, hoards of men and women stood in a circle, shouting and cheering madly. Others stood off to the side and hungrily collected paga into sloppy piles before them.

  “What in the sloppiest of cocks is goin’ on,” Boss growled at the scene. He made to break toward the uproar in a full gallop, but The Baron dropped a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

  “Show me the cell,” he commanded. “I did not sail across the Great Sea to witness the dramas of managing a corral for the unsane.”

  Boss pointed to a cell at the end of one of the rows and left The Baron and his crew to race toward the fight unfolding before them.

  The Baron turned to a crewman behind him and took a heavy machine gun from his shoulder.

  This is it, he thought as he approached the cell, bracing himself to see the man with whom he’d spent his youth seeking mischief and adventure. This had better be it …

  But as he looked through the cell’s bars, there was nothing to be seen. Save for some strange, familiar circular symbols, the cell was empty.

  An explosion rocked the world around him.

  12

  “Brother, I think I am lost …”

  “These woods are tricky,” Ian replied. They had left the cabin and begun their journey back. “But we made it this far. We will make it back home.”

  They had remained in silence in the cabin for a lengthy time following Saleema’s spells. Ian had gazed into the green lights until his mind refused to take in any more and forced his body backward upon the wooden floor. The moment Saleema saw him falter, her concentration went to Ian, and the spell broke. The lights went out, and the silence collapsed down around them anew.

  “Are you well?” she’d asked.

  “I just—I need a moment,” Ian had managed.

  “I told you that it wouldn’t work.”

  Perhaps it hadn’t. But something happened. Ian had become one with the multiverse. In mere moments, he’d seen worlds he couldn’t have dreamt existed. He’d understood foreign cultures and languages. He’d gazed upon galaxies and observed discoveries that most realities would never make. He looked upon the contents of his studies, the pages filled with symbols and unfamiliar scripts. His eyes fell upon the double-circled symbol, and his heart beat faster in his chest as he heaved quick, shallow breaths.

  “That isn’t what I mean,” his brother replied now. “I feel lost inside.”

  Ian paused. The unnaturally silent Hoxar Woods seemed to take in a slow breath around them.

  “What did she do to me?” He stopped and clutched at his heaving chest, a panic attack brewing.

  Ian took his brother in his arms as the young man began to weep.

  “I can’t remember who I am,” he sobbed into Ian’s chest.

  The pair sank to their knees in the odd darkness. “What do you mean?” Ian implored.

  “I—I—I—I—”

  Ian rubbed the young man’s back and drew his arm up to the back of his head in an attempt to calm him. He looked down and noted a large strip of grey in his younger brother’s black hair. “Your hair …” he said, jaw sinking with his heart.

  “Oh, Greggy, your hair …”

  The Cave:

  Part 3

  “I

  s this what Hell is?” Christopher asked. “Just an eternity of wandering around bored in the dark?”

  “I know not,” The Stranger replied without much interest.

  “How long were you here before I found you anyway?”

  The Stranger shrugged.

  “Like, was it days? Or just a couple hours?” he asked.

  “Hours?” The Stranger asked. “How would I know how many days had passed anyway?” He waved his arms toward the dark cavern’s ceiling overhead.

  “Fair enough,” Christopher agreed. “Time seems funny in here anyway … just like my memory.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “So you ever gonna tell me your name?” he urged.

  The Stranger rolled his eyes. “My identity was stolen from me, as was my family,” he said. “If we find my son, then I will tell you my name.”

  “I thought you said we wouldn’t find him here? I mean I’d hope your son isn’t in Hell and all …”

  The Stranger winced at the notion. “I’m not so sure this is … Hell.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I do not believe we are dead. I do not feel dead.”

  Christopher scoffed. He looked down at his body and confirmed it was still there. “Isn’t that kinda the point? The afterlife and all?”

  “Not as I understand it,” The Stranger replied.

  “What’s your religion?”

  “My what?”

  Christopher paused, confused. “Your religion? Like what do you believe happens after you die?”

  “I was taught that one’s departed spirit is free to roam the physical world, inhabiting herbs and potions that aid and heal loved ones.”

  “Ha!” Christopher forced a laugh. “That’s even sillier than our religions. So that’s it? Good or evil, you just get to wander around and turn into water and shit?”

  The Stranger cast the young man a vexed glance before replying, “Evil spirits would be more apt to inhabit poisonous foods or plants like the ogras.”

  “Ogras?” Christopher asked.

  “Yes, the one that is burned in a pipe.” He mimed a smoking gesture.

  Christopher erupted in hearty laughter at this. “Like weed?” he shouted. He laughed excessively before wiping a tear away from one eye. “I guess we were both wrong on that one, buddy. Kind of a slap in the face to wake up in Hell after the hard stance I took against Christianity.”

  “What is this Christianity you speak of?”

  “What? It’s everywhere! Where is that Repose place anyway?”

  The Stranger shrugged.

  “Like what continent is it on?” Christopher pressed.

  The Stranger shook his head. “I know not.”

  “You don’t know what continent you live on?”

  “’Tis just Reprise!” The Stranger snapped. “Across the sea from Fordar. That’s all I know.”

  Christopher considered this before stopping in his tracks. “Wait a minute,” he said, looking The Stranger’s garb up and down. “Are you from, like, the past?”

  “The what?”

  “Or another dimension?” he added excitedly.

  The Stranger turned away and continued walking, unsure how to respond.

  “Wait! What year was it when you died?”

  “What is year?” The Stranger asked.

  “You don’t know what year it is?”

  The Stranger rolled his eyes again, patience thinning. “I do not,” he said curtly.

  “A year, like, as in three hundred and sixty-five days. I’m not being mean! I’m just trying to understand.”

  The Stranger shook his head again. “That sounds quite arbitrary.”

  “Dude!” he cried. “It’s how long it takes Earth to move around the sun! One full revolution is a year.”

  The Stranger paused and tried to understand some of the words the man spoke. Finally, he asked, “Earth?”

  Christopher dropped to his knees and clutched his head in his arms. The Stranger watched his dramatic display in
silence. He stood up at last and threw his head back in exasperation. “Oh my fuckin’ God, you’re from another dimension. Do you know the U.S.? Europe? Asia? Galileo? Jesus Christ? Do you have TVs?”

  The Stranger slowly shook his head. “I know none of those words.”

  Christopher allowed himself to collapse again. “Holy shit!”

  “Are you well?” The Stranger asked.

  “Yeah, just give me … give me a minute. My mind is exploding.”

  The Stranger stood in silence for a long while before Christopher spoke again. He did so from a crouched position, his head still bowed in his arms.

  “We used to have this cat—do you know cats?”

  The Stranger nodded.

  “So we had this cat, and he would sit all day and stare out the window, you know? We never let him outside, for all, like, twelve years of his life or whatever. So he’d just stare out the window, and I’d stare at him. I remember trying to view life from his perspective when I was a kid. Like, what if I opened the front door and let him out? What would that be like for him? He probably lived his entire life thinking the universe was confined to the walls of our house, you know? I thought about that a lot. Like, if I just stared up into the sky, I think I’m looking at the bounds of my universe, my reality, right? But … There could be so much more out there. There clearly are other worlds, man.”

  The Stranger stood in silence for a long time before sitting down in the cave next to Christopher. He said nothing in reply.

  “Does any of that make sense?” Christopher asked at last.

  “No,” The Stranger admitted. “I continue to ponder it, and I cannot for my life discern why you’d keep a cat in your home.”

  Chapter 7:

  In Memoriam

  1

  Chris Cross Applesauce: Spoon-feeding for (Adults Who Think Like) Schoolchildren

  Heaven / Hell:

  The very notion that there is a Heaven or Hell is so shockingly, pitifully facile that it’s truly insulting. My entire life, I’ve been told to think a certain way, to speak a certain way, to behave a certain way. To contradict or disobey these orders—hell, to even question them—would yield dire consequences: Santa would put me on the naughty list.

  Oh, no, wait. I mean: I’d squander and suffer for an eternity in a fiery underworld.

  Does that not seem like quite a leap to anyone else? From Tooth Fairies and Easter Bunnies to SATAN SODOMIZING YOUR SOUL.

  This whole premise is the most basic of techniques used to brainwash and control. Just look at the holiday kid-parent dynamic. You can coerce a child to do almost anything with the promise of gifts (paradise) or the threat of coal (damnation). And they don’t think twice. They don’t challenge you. They don’t try to look beyond. Why would they? The reward is so sweet, so attainable. They just fall in line and nod politely and hit you with a “yes, ma’am,” or a “no, sir.”

  Now extrapolate that to a more global scale—a more adult scale—a scale most of us never grow out of. It’s easy to question something like Santa Claus when you hear your friends talking about how he isn’t real. The only consequence would be a short scolding, maybe one or two fewer gifts this Christmas.

  But to question Jesus Christ? No, no, no, no! To even have a critical discussion is forbidden on the highest scale. This illustrates the carefully nefarious design of religion.

  Now I know a lot of people I grew up with would argue that such a flawless design could only be crafted by God. But I maintain that this notion is dangerously naive. If I wanted to create a lie I could never get caught in, what would be the best way to do it? Well, to create a villain (depending on your perspective) who would punish you ETERNALLY IN FIRE AND DAMNATION if you even so much as questioned the validity of my story. That’s a pretty scary consequence, eh?

  This type of design disallows critical thinking, reasoning, deduction, and even accepting the evidence right in front of our fucking eyes. It rewards falling in line and obeying without question. It goes against every concept of “freedom” that most of you cling to while you’re beating off over the American Flag. To say that the U.S. is a “Christian nation” is fundamentally wrong on so many levels, but on that one especially—our flag cannot represent both Christianity and freedom. The two are practically mutually exclusive!

  Furthermore, Christianity is something like the 50th documented world religion that recycles trite fairy tales such as the virgin birth, crucifixion, resurrection on the third day, and a notion of a Good vs. Evil afterlife.

  Take off your blinders. Think about the shit you’ve been spoon-fed your entire life, and accept that if you don’t make the most of your time here, now, you’ll soon be dead—nothing—and won’t have a second in any made-up paradise to compensate for the life you wasted.

  Views: 11

  2

  East Tennessee Tribune

  Nashville, TN March 03, 2019

  Missing Local Young Man and Recent High School Graduate Presumed Dead

  The entire eastern Tennessee community is mourning the loss of recent East Tennessee High School graduate, Christopher Cross, aged 21 (pictured on page 8). Christopher graduated in 2017. He was studying literature and philosophy in City University of New York (CUNY) in Brooklyn, NY, at the time of his disappearance. He succeeds his mother, a Nashville native, who remembers him as “an ambitious young man.” She remembers being very proud of his achievements and aspirations, but she reports “long-time concerns about his lifestyle and about certain decisions that he made.” There are no siblings or other direct relatives.

  Christopher is remembered by classmates as quiet but opinionated. He is prominent on social media and has written several controversial blog posts that are gaining local notoriety posthumously.

  There will be a small memorial service at ET High this Friday at 6:00 PM. Family requests that guests be limited to close friends, classmates, teachers, or relatives. Space and resources will be limited. The service will be held at 12 Spencer Street.

  At the time of this report, little is known regarding the events surrounding Cross’s abrupt disappearance. Law enforcement agencies in Brooklyn, NY, are conducting extensive investigations, and there were some detailed reports regarding a graphic crime scene. The investigation is currently

  (Continued on page 8 … )

  3

  Transcript of Channel 6 News evening broadcast:

  Crystal: Good evening, I’m Crystal Jensen, and thank you for tuning in to Channel 6 evening news, New York’s number one source for information. Shocking developments are unfolding in the case of missing CUNY student Christopher Cross. If you’ve been following this story, you’ll know that Christopher is a twenty-one year old Tennessee graduate who went missing from his Brooklyn apartment sometime last week. We’ve been following the case closely, and our sources are now telling us that police are now treating this as a missing person’s case in which the victim is thought to be in extreme danger. They have not yet declared the case a homicide, but there is dwindling hope that Christopher will be recovered with each day that passes. There is a whirlwind of controversy surrounding the case online, as Christopher was a controversial persona on social media, including Facebook, YouTube, and his personal blog. We have a clip from a recent video-blog posted on Christopher’s YouTube account, the contents of which many are speculating could have been motivation for his suspected attack and disappearance. If there are young children watching, I urge you to change the channel, as the content of the video we are about to play is quite verbally explicit.

  Christopher: Wow! Another man with a conceal carry permit stopped a lone gunman? Good for [expletive] him! No, really, I genuinely am [expletive] happy for him. Followers and critics alike may think me facetious, but it isn’t so. I am happy for him, and I’m happy for the potential victims. They get to live, and he gets to be a [expletive] hero with a [expletive] bar story for the rest of his life. I mean, he fired six shots in and hit the gunman twice, so that doesn’t really incite any
calls of ‘Put more guns in the hands of untrained, God-fearing citizens!’ in my brain, but that’s okay, I see why you’re sharing this article all over my [expletive] Facebook. I do, however, have a couple of issues with your intended argument, because, let’s be real, you shared a news story. You didn’t actually offer any argument.

  Issue number one: What does this [expletive] prove? A law-abiding citizen was legally carrying his pistol and minding his own [expletive] business, and due to astronomical serendipity, he managed to use that pistol to stop a sick mother [expletive] from doing a sick deed. But what exactly is your point? That guns are good? Well, that can’t be it, because without the original gun, the good guy wouldn’t have needed his gun, and nothing would have gone down. That good guys with guns stop bad guys with guns? Well, that’s a [expletive] logical fallacy in and of itself. For every example you can give, I can give four examples in the opposite direction.

  Issue number two: Your position is based on a false notion that guns are already [expletive] difficult to get. Your position is ‘DON’T TAKE OUR GUNS.’ My position is, ‘[expletive] YOUR GUNS.’ This guy had a legally owned pistol that fired six shots. I’m fine with that. Most people would be. But mass shootings are still happening every single day. Something is broken, and your only argument is ‘DON’T CHANGE ANYTHING. DON’T TRY TO FIX THIS PROBLEM.’ Guns are already [expletive] simple to acquire. [expletive] rednecks all over the country are already hoarding them. Why aren’t they stopping more of these mass shootings? Maybe because that isn’t a reasonable [expletive] expectation of a citizen? Have none of you ever considered that?

  Half of the nation’s mass shootings require entire [expletive] S.W.A.T. teams to bring to a stop. How can you possibly think that Cletus and Clampet with their [expletive] birdshot in their overalls are going to do any good? They’re more likely to blow each other’s [expletive] heads off trying to auto-asphyxiate in their trailer park closets. These tragedies require groups of individuals who are well-trained in dealing with such crises, and is anyone shouting, ‘More cops! More cops?’ I don’t think so.