I CAN SEE them under me. The army trucks trailing down the winter road. Hmm… They seem to be getting bigger. Right, I’m falling out of the sky.
One in particular likes my smiling face so much it decides to touch it. I crash through the roof, slamming to the floor between the rows of boots belonging to sitting armed people.
The floor of the truck dents deep and scrapes the ground in a spatter of sparks. The body of the truck folds like a cheap suit. The grind of the brakes ends my total surprise.
Did the Demon woman aim? Could she see the trucks way back there? I always have questions, but rarely do I have answers.
The truck line comes to a will-less halt. All this because of ‘lil Ol’ me.' Once again, I’m going to piss someone off. All of this just to end up back in the hands of some army.
All I want to do is go home. Home is gone. I miss my apartment. I miss my neighbourhood, which is just a radiated chasm now.
Where am I supposed to go? Where is the Cowboy? So much for we are in this together. (In his voice.)
What about the Demon? Can she even hurt me? I’m starting to wonder. Next time, I’m going to ignore the Cowboy and just confront her.
How dare she throw me. My name isn’t Gimli.
(You have to toss me; don’t tell the elf. Lord of the Rings.)
The armed people in the back of the truck sit tilted, on the fact that part of the vehicle is now arched.
All rifles were soon in my face.
I fell from the sky, and I’m not even hurt. I’m going to have some fun with this. What were they going to do, shoot me? We know that doesn’t work.
I reached out and pointed at one.
“I choose that one.” I said.
They all look at me as if I were deranged; maybe I am. There is no way I could be completely sane after all of this.
I lower my hand. Not even a smirk. These guys are no fun either.
RESPONSE EMINENT
There is only one response to this kind of behaviour. I am now hogtied with zip ties and being carried to a bus. They seem pretty pissed.
You would be proud to know that I wasn’t done making an ass of myself. My feet not touching the ground, then moving me quickly, I can’t resist.
“Weee!” I cheered!
They pull me up onto the prison bus behind them. There are prisoners in here. They have their hands and feet chained. Soon I was sitting next to a hair challenged individual who smelled of body odour and shame.
“Good morning,” I say.
“G‘’mornin.” He replies.
Wow, he said it back. I wasn’t expecting that. These soldiers of fortune didn’t take the wind out of his sail yet. They will still try.
An armed man sits in the first row. He has a steel mug with a lid. A familiar scent invades my senses and tantalizes them with fond memories.
COFFEE
Imagine you’re some savage sitting in your village. You collected these plump red bitter berries, and now you're plucking these white beans out of them and discarding the flesh of the fruit.
They may think you are mad as the hatter. They watch as you roast these white beans until they are a fragrant dark caramel brown. Not weird enough?
The steps to follow will be: you crush the beans into a powder and drop them into a pot of boiling water. Stir; stir; stir.
The beans are fished out of the water, and you start ladling the dark liquid into cups and hand one to your tribesmen.
“Here, drink some of my hot bean water.”
They will think you’re crazy! Then, the smell will be too much for him. He will take a long, meaningful gulp of the gravy goodness. He will question himself: ‘Why did I do that? It was terrible.’
Taking another sip. Maybe just one more. How strangely satisfying. One more.
‘Wow, I like this terrible bean water!’
The coffee drinker is born.
It’s not like I feel the need to break the bar I’m chained to, dive over the seat, steal his cup, and devour the nectar of the gods right there on the floor of the prison bus or anything.
I don’t really get hungry anymore, but the memory is nice. The ritual was a part of my life for so many years. What is going to be my new ritual, running from the Demon?
No, I’m going to face her the next time I see her. That’s what they say, right? You have to face your demons.
Oh, I guess I spent all this time daydreaming. The bus is coming to a stop.
I looked over to the coffee drinker. He is holding his mug half haphazardly; it’s empty. Remembering the aftereffect of a warm mouth coated in that yummy drink, I lick my lips in disappointment.
COOL HAND LUKE
There is a salt-and-peppered-haired man dressed in fatigues. He is talking to the bus driver. I can’t make out what they are saying, so I start to make it up in my head.
THE SOLDIER: “Wow, that’s a big camouflaged bus.”
THE DRIVER: “Yeah, they were all out of the short ones on account of how special we all are.”
THE SOLDIER: “That’s a shame; I like those little buses.”
THE DRIVER: “Yeah, me too.”
I laugh to myself. The guy next to me smiles. I’m starting to like this guy. Maybe we will be friends.
I’m coming to the realization that I may have snapped a wee bit. I have to be careful. I don’t want to fall into madness like the Demon. I need to keep my wits about me.
I can’t stop smiling. I’m around a lot of people again. Hopefully I don’t have to watch them all get old and die; that’s depressing.
Little by little, the armed men take people off the bus and lead them away. My turn and my new friend.
We are pushed off the bus. I could probably get away right now, but I want to see this through. I need to know what they are doing here.