Alone, continued
--
Favorite things, Where did they go?
Robbie sat alone, staring at the picture. This was part of his morning routine. Wake, care for bodily functions, stoke the fire, heat some water, make the coffee, sip the coffee, and stare at the picture.
He had always been alone, as far back as he can remember. Before him, today was the last stretch of land, a few miles or so before he would run into the Pacific Ocean. He had come from the Atlantic Ocean, following the sun each day. Till there was just enough light left to start a fire, set camp, or claim an empty building.
Today was different, though. As he sat by the fire, the morning sun warming his back, A question brewed in the recesses of his mind. Who took the picture?
A thought appeared before him, titillating the atmosphere.
“There had been someone else; he had not always been alone.”
More questions stirred.
Who? When? Where are they?
The day went well; the travel was easy, and the streets were empty as usual. Robbie relaxed on the wide expanse of the beach, ignoring the odd partial skeletons that lay strewn about the area. On a bench, there sat a pile of bones and, in what used to be a hand, an old weathered book. Most of its pages were unreadable, but the one page the bones held open with a slim white digit pointing to a paragraph read, “Describe your ideal environment. What is your favorite season? Why?” Robbie read this. He started thinking about the questions and wondering why a book had that question in it and why someone would read such a book.
The rest of the day was a fun day Robbie played a bit in the water. He found a fishing pole by a skeleton, and for the fun of it cast the line out into the waves. He stood there holding the pole, thinking about the questions What is your favorite season?
“Well, it sure ain’t winter, especially in Colorado,” He said loudly. He often spoke to himself, at first, he thought, “You’re going crazy.” Then he told himself, “You don’t want to forget what the spoken word sounds like, do you?”
“What about that other question? Describe your ideal environment. a town, in the country, a big city, cozy, extravagant?”
He stood holding the fishing pole, thinking about all those options and trying to picture them. Then, the pole, hand, and arm flew forward as if controlled by an unseen force. Realizing something was tugging on the line, he gripped the pole, pulled it back to him, and began to reel in the line. It was a larger and longer pole than the one he found and used at the lake, but he smiled because he remembered the prize that came to him that day. He practically salivated recalling the smell of the fish cooking over the fire. He didn’t know how long the fight between him and the fish lasted, but he was breathing hard by the time he saw any evidence of an actual living creature on the line. Then it jumped clean out of the water. A fish as long as his legs as big around as he was. The sun glinted off its scales that showed a rainbowish pattern down its side. He reeled and pulled, walking backward, desperately trying to get the beast to land. His stomach growled. A breeze blew, chilling the perspiration, and he shivered. Then, success, he reeled and walked forward to the beached fish keeping the line taught. He reached down, grabbed it through a gill,s and hauled it up further from the crashing waves. He stood staring at the creature, the entirety of his body smiling, tingles rolling up his back and arms.
He set camp that evening at a pavilion not far from where he caught the fish. It had a barbeque pit and tables. Robbie harvested some wood and other flammable material from a nearby building and made a fire. Gutted Mr. Whale, the name he gave the largest fish he had ever seen in person, he de-scaled it and began cooking it. As the night progressed and the smells of Mr. whale’s meat lofted about on the sea breeze, something Robbie never expected happened. First, a bird landed, eyeing the fire, the boy, and the fish. Robbie could not remember the last time he saw two living creatures on the same day. He shooed it off.
“Best set aside a bit of you, Mr. Whale, to use in catching me a bird later on,” Robbie told himself out loud.
Then a cat appeared. Three living creatures in one day. It sat just inside the light of the fire, eyeing Mr. Whale. Robbie sat amazed at the site. Using the paper plates he had found in a local store, he prepared a plate for the cat and set it at the end of the table, then moved to the other end of the table.
“Come on, kitty, it is for you. plenty to share. come get it.”
By the time he was ready to sleep, the cat had enjoyed a triple helping of Mr. Whale and was sitting on the top of the table next to Robbie, purring and allowing Robbie to pet him. Robbie had wrapped the remaining meat in tinfoil obtained at the local store, built a larger fire, and set his normal alarms around his campsite. He went to sleep thinking about his ideal environment and favorite season.
Robbie and his family sat about the firepit in his backyard. The leaves of the large trees in their yard had already turned and were beginning to litter the ground; the heat of the summer had broken into a more mild temperature, and a slight breeze blew intermittently this night.
“I love this time of the year,” Jimmy said.
Robbie agreed but said nothing.
“Happy birthday Robbie,” his mom said, carrying a birthday cake to the small fireside table. His father followed with a small wrapped gift. “Happy birthday, son.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling.
“Make a wish and blow out the candles,” Mom said.
Ten candles, he blew, they went out. They sang to him; he opened the gift, click, flash, his mother took a picture. It was a knife, a survival knife with a six-inch blade. He smiled; he couldn’t stop smiling.
What was that? Time slowed, rattling cans, and the scene faded before him. A hissing cat, a barking dog.
“Robbie,” his mom called out to him.
Robbie’s eyes snapped open; he sat looking around and grasping the knife.
“Mom? My Mom took the picture; I was ten. It was my birthday,” Robbie exclaimed.
Upon Robbie’s waking, the cat hissed again at the dog, who had stopped barking and retreated a bit. Now it came forward growling.
“Hey puppy, what are you growling at?” Robbie said. He was now stunned and exasperated, barely able to process a thought. Four living creatures in the same day and memories. His dad, mom, and brother.
“How long ago had it been since your Tenth birthday Robbie? Where did you live?” He asked the dog, who looked at him, head tilted sideways with its ears perked up.
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Could you please read one of these three stories when you have a moment? I am trying to get 100 reads for them.
© 2022, T. Mark Mangum
I am T. Mark Mangum. From an early age, I was hooked and addicted to the imagined, unfathomable worlds of Star Wars, Star Trek, Conan, the Lord of the Rings, and many others. I love writing fiction tales. I love writing in multiple genres. However, my favorites are Sci-fi and Fantasy fiction. I am a father of six; we have two cats and two dogs. Tabletop gaming is a passion.
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