Crazy to want this (431 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryLabels: goodfiction
Rating: 2 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Corn Nugget (View user info) at 2005-07-24 22:58:06 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
On the ninth day, John finally gave up. He had spent more than a week wandering the desert, more than a day without water, and more than two days without food. His eyes were rimmed in red, and coated with a fine film of dust. His lips were dry and sore; the skin was chafing away and created sores that burned painfully in the sun and became caked with sand.
For eight days John had walked along the sandy landscape, hoping to see something from the top of a drift. For eight days John had thought about how he came to be here, he remembered the helicopter crash more clearly than he remembered his wifes face. He remembered clambering over the bodies of his crew, frantically trying to find cover before someone found him.
He was always thinking of one thing or the other. His past or his future. With each hill he crested, he saw nothing except more sand, and he slowly began to realize that he might not have much of a future to think about.
When evening fell, on the eighth day, John allowed himself to collapse into the sand. He lay back, watching the darkness soak into the sky, and he resigned himself to his fate. His lack of delusion worried him. If he were dying, he'd be losing the ability to think clearly... he worried that he might not be dying. He worried that he might be forced to endure another day with the sun relentlessly soaking each drop of water from his body.
He prayed for his salvation from this earth, from this misery, from this pain. He closed his eyes, and hoped to never be bothered with opening them again.
That wasn't meant to be. Johns eyes slowly opened the next day before sunrise. He saw the familiar golden glow in the sand, and he knew it was morning. And he was alive. As if death were something one could wish upon themselves, John lay there, praying to the God he had never believed in, for the end to come.
If death was going to be an evasive bitch, John would help it along by giving up. This was the exact moment, on that ninth day, that John gave up. Hours passed while he lay there prone, waiting to die. When he heard noises, laughter and talking, a grin sprang to his face, stretching out his chapped lips and causing them to bleed. He didn't mind.
This was it. He was finally delirious. He was finally having visions. He was dying, finally. He watched the horizon, and his vision become more clear. He started seeing people walking along in a caravan. He saw donkeys, carts and wagons. Involuntarily his arm raised in a meager greeting. He tried to yell to them, but his voice came out as a cough. His ethereal vision became more and more real. He could see the color in their linen robes. He could smell the donkeys.
John smiled and closed his eyes, and welcomed death.
That was the end of John.
That led to the beginning of Emjhan.
The first thing Emjhan saw was his nurse. She was rubbing an ointment on his cracked hands, murmuring something sweet sounding. When she looked up to meet his eyes, she smiled and then offered him a sip of water.
It was dark and cool inside the tent. He couldn't understand anything his nurse said, but her words were comforting, and he found himself enjoying her company. For a week he submitted to her comforting mercies. On the ninth day, he decided it was time to see what lay outside the tent.
He pulled back the heavy fabric of the tents door, and stood on the threshold. It felt as if he had opened an oven to inspect a cake; the hot air rushed in and wrapped itself around him as the sun accosted his eyes. His nurse came to stand beside him as he surveyed his surroundings. There were many tents similar to the one he was standing in. Off to the right there was a tent much larger than the rest. The fabric wasn't the same dull brown, but instead it was a blue that seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sun. The nurse gently lay her hand on his shoulder. She began talking and pointing at different things- first the large tent, then a group of donkeys that lay under an awning to their left, then she pointed to a group of men that stood chatting near the southern most border of the ramshackle camp.
He could feel his anger swelling. He had no idea what the woman that stood next to him was saying, he had no frame of reference as to where he was, or who he was with. Frustration, mixed with anger, helplessness and fear made his muscles tense and his stomach churn. He quickly turned to the woman who had spent time lathering ointment on his dry skin, holding cups of water to his chapped lips, and emptying the pot after he relieved himself. He wanted to lash out. He wanted to chastise her for talking to him in a language he obviously didn't understand. He wanted to slap her pretty face and knock her to the ground.
But then his eyes met hers, and not only did he see love in her eyes, he saw every good emotion he had ever known. Her eyes were pools of understanding, patience, forgiveness and trust. His anger immediately dissipated, and when she took his hand in her own, he did not pull away. She led him across the threshold of the tent, and towards the large tent, about 500 feet away.
She pulled the door open, and gestured for him to step inside. There were nine men in various states of relaxation; some were laying fully prone, others were propped up on an elbow, some sat either in chairs, or leaning against various objects in the room. All at once they turned to look at him. He felt his body tense up and his mind went sharp. He was ready to make his exit or fight for his freedom, he didn't know which he would be forced to do.
Then they disarmed him with their slow smiles and welcoming greetings. They all stood up and came near him, shaking his hand and patting his shoulder. He sensed the same inherent goodness in these men, the comfort that he felt with them was akin to the bond he felt with his nurse. Both unbelievable and amazing.
They began patting their chests and saying things. He realized they were introducing themselves, and tried to remember the names they said. After the men were satisfied with their introductions, he followed suit. He placed his hand on his chest and said, "I'm John".
Their blank stares encouraged him to repeat himself, a bit slower and more articulate, "I'm John".
Suddenly the men sprang back to life, more smiles and laughing, and they began trying to say his name.
"Emjhan!" "Emjhan!" they came over to pat his back and a few of the men hugged him.
"No, No... I'm JOHN... John. John!" he was torn between amusement and frustration.
"Emjhan!" they all cheered.
Emjhan spent the next nine months becoming acclimated to their culture. He noticed that they remained optimistic and happy even during the most treacherous of times. They traveled through the desert during the mornings and evenings, stopping to rest during the blackness of night and the oppressing heat of day. Through everything, his nurse stood by his side, though it was no longer out of necessity.
Nine months later she gave birth to their first daughter. By this time Emjhan barely thought of his past life, and when he did, it was always with thankfulness for his newfound freedom and happiness. Living the life of a nomad suited him well, almost as if it were his true fate. His daughter had raven hair and sparkling eyes, her cry sounded like bells and her skin felt like silk.
The men of the tribe were amused that Emjhan insisted on helping his wife carry their daughter. He'd wrap her in a thin blanket, and then wrap the blanket over one shoulder and under the other, so that she lay nestled on his chest. He spoke to her in English along these long journeys, telling her of his past, and speculating on her future. He did this as much for her as he did for himself, it felt oddly liberating to speak in his first language.
On her first birthday his wife told him she was pregnant again. Nine months later she lay in their tent, screaming and pushing, and she had another baby girl. The next nine years were overflowing with happiness and joy. He saw his daughters turn from malleable babies into beautiful girls. His wife constantly surprised him with her talent at motherhood, and her unrelenting ability to overcome.
His children were constantly exploring, on an undying quest to find something spectacular and new. In the mornings, their caravan stopped to lay down their camp, the men unloaded the supplies from the donkeys while the women began preparing the meals, and the children scuttled off to the rocky embankment,
One day, the children found something. Emjhan was erecting the awning for the donkeys when his oldest daughter ran over to him. She gripped his hand and quietly whispered to him in English.
"Daddy, there are men around the bend. They speak like you. They look like you."
He felt the blood rush from his face, his mouth went cottony, and his palms started to sweat. Men like him. His whole world suddenly seemed like an illusion, like he had been playing house for an extended period of time.
"Are they well? Are they lost?" he asked her. Her answer was a simple shrug, and she pulled him away, towards these men.
He couldn't help but smile at the scene that stood around the bend. There were nine men laying in different states of relaxation. Some were laying prone, others propped themselves up on an elbow, some leaned with their backs against the tires of their green Jeeps. They were surrounded by the children of the tribe, everyone was talking at once. The men were offering sweets to the kids, and the kids were having fun poking at the mens strange looking clothes and vehicles.
All at once they turned to look at him. The children has joy on their faces, which turned to excitement, they wanted to share their find with him. The men had blank looks that turned to surprise, and then cycled into concern.
"Do you speak english?" one of them asked him.
"Yes."
They all stood up and came near him. They asked him a barrage of questions, sometimes taking turns talking, other times they all talked at once. He invited them over to camp, so they could talk in the comfort of a tent instead of standing in the burning sun.
He took them to the blue tent, offered them water and bread, and sat them down to explain his situation. It took longer than it should have for him to tell his story. The men kept interrupting and asking irrelevant questions about the women and the food. They wanted to know why these people chose the nomadic lifestyle, they wanted answers to questions that were unanswerable. By the time he told his tale, the meal was ready. His wife came in, trailed closely by his daughters, and gave each of the men a small portion of food.
The men stayed for the day, enjoying the tales of the desert, and finding relief in the shade of the tent. At nightfall they began packing up their Jeeps. One man came to him and asked where they should leave the rucksacks that they were leaving behind.
"Why are you leaving them behind?" he asked.
"We don't have much room, of course we hadn't anticipated finding you here, so we have to leave a few bags behind for you to fit."
"No, I'm not going back." The men all turned to look at him in unison. Some had smart grins on their faces, others look concerned, but most looked dumbfounded.
"You have to go back. You're American... you're MIA right now."
"No. I'm not going back."
This argument went on for far too long, but the men finally relented, and turned to leave without him. The same man that had asked him about leaving bags behind stopped short, turned to look at the barren surroundings, the braying donkeys, and the tents peppering the area. He used a dirty cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow, and turned to give him one last look, "You must be crazy to want this, John."
He smiled and shook his head, "I haven't been John for a long time".
User Reviews
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-12-14 16:41:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
the only thing I didn't like about this was that he had a wife in his prior life and suddenly was totally willing to ditch her for this new life. it seemed at first he didn't know who he was but if he told his daughters of his old life he certainly did remember.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-11-17 21:26:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-10-30 05:29:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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