EVERYONE HAS A story to tell, but not this bunch. I kind of wish they would say something. All those micro-movements and grunts of the Ghouls can be a little hypnotic.
My mind is numb. My heart is numb. My arse is numb. I’m just numb.
Swells of the cold air dance over the nearly blinding sheets of white. The snow is kind of fun to crunch under my new boots my ghouls gave me.
Trying to navigate through the stuff can be a little tricky. The road was here when we started, but because of the wind, everything is moving all of the time.
The sun reflecting off the ice doesn’t help. Now I know what the human’s protective faceplate is for; it is not just protecting their skin; it has pieces to protect the eyes from becoming blind.
We forgot how tired we got when we were human. They want to rest, but we have to get out of the wind. Maybe pushing them isn’t such a good idea. They definitely do not want to get carried by the Ghouls. (I asked.)
We eventually make it to some wide trees that block the wind pretty good. They begin to set up camp. I try to have my Ghouls help, but that only frightens them, so we patrol the area instead.
I am marching with my Ghouls on the outskirts of their little camp. I feel like someone has eyes on me. Mushing down the snow with my boots, I gaze through the wide, dark trunks of the forest.
Not more than a few feet away, a few Ghouls sit right up out of the snow. They are not yet one of mine. Their bony faces look right at me. I laugh out loud as I can feel their relief that I am here. My energy feeds them, and they laugh, joining me as they are fleshing out.
My big stupid grin smiles back at me on all their faces. The new Ghouls rise up out of the snow. I can feel their intentions, and what comes from them is appreciation and pure devotion to me; they feel my cause and live only to help me. Good Ghouls.
I can see the heavy, unwavering tents of the humans. Warrior is sound asleep in her tent. Being human and all, she was going to need her rest. This means the Cowboy is alone.
TIME TO FORGE
Eventually, I spot the Cowboy, he is near a hillside. His eyes are closed; his arm is out, fingers spread. I can see the streams of power mostly invisible to the naked eye, but you can see the blurred air from his fingers to the deep snow.
Chunks of stone came up out of the white. First, a large piece, the size of a desk, floats up effortlessly and is placed before the Cowboy. He leans over and slides his hands along its contours, nodding his head. He lets out an approving grunt.
His eyes find mine. I’m closer now.
“Watch.” Is all he says.
I see the blurred air again as more, smaller chunks rise up out of the snow; they are floating through the air and dropping on top of his large stone surface. I can see the veins of metal in the rocks. (It is ORE.)
He’s going to forge something. I’ve always wanted to see this in person.
He holds his hand out over the rock, and I reach for it. He smacks my hand away and shakes his head. Furthermore, he’s annoyed, I can tell, but I still can’t stop smiling, though, damn face.
His other hand comes out, and his thumbnail grows fat and long like a green glowing knife. Funny, when your nail got green when I was human, it meant bad things. Now it’s all good. Life is strange here in the Wasteland.
He cuts into the palm of his hand with the nail, and steam rises up into the air. I thought that to cut our flesh is impossible; I guess not. Dribbles of his green goo slam onto the ore below, sounding like it was just hit by a bus.
It melts immediately and spreads over the rock. The Cowboy slides his thumb knife through the warm pudding, separating the impurities and shaping the metal into links. He rolls them over and they become solid. He is building a chain.
“This is not what I thought blacksmithing is.”
“It’s not. I don’t do things that way anymore.” The Cowboy replies.
He shakes his head, looking at me.
“Let go of all that human shit now. You won’t be happy until you do. You are a God Boogeyman; just let it go.”
I let out a breath and nod my head. I thought I did let go. I guess I still have a long way to go. Maybe there is still some desire there to go back to the way things were, the way I knew. That can’t happen now, here at the end of the world.
I’m a God, he says, what does that even mean? A god creates life. The Ghouls? I don’t know, maybe? I didn’t create them, though; I only changed them.
The weird smashing sound of The Cowboy’s (I’m going to say, ‘blood’?) is slamming into the ore, burning away impurity. His green sausage fingers are grabbing the hot pieces like he’s playing with Cheetos. He is forcing the links into shape with his bare hands.
I guess we don’t burn, either. When you think about it, we are living a cruel joke. Horribly mutated, all our loved ones gone. No matter our shortcomings, we have to help each other overcome them even if we don’t like the person because we are stuck with them forever.
PEOPLE YOU CAN’T THROW AWAY
I hate to say it, but in life, when someone is a shitty person, we often write them off. We may stop talking to that person or throw them away somewhere if what they did is bad enough.
The redeemed don’t have that luxury. No matter what someone does, there must be corrected behaviour, reeducation, so they can have the tools to interact in an acceptable manner, and there must be steps taken to earn forgiveness, and growth must occur.
Falling into darkness is not an option. Look at all this destruction. Lives ruined; time lost; hearts broken. It all must be redeemed. HEALING must happen for us to move on.
You humans are lucky. Eventually you die. I am stuck with Monster. Even after we fight, and he hurts me a lot, he is still going to exist. I am going to see him every day after.
I wonder if that would have saved the world? If humans didn’t die, and we learned to grow, forgive, and heal, would it have made any difference? Would those fat old men with boobs still have dropped the bombs?
I guess, for me, it is too late to know.