The Long Walk Home: chapter 8 (To Her, Little Ceasar's Crazy Bred is Just Bred.)

Ted did not leave my head. He said he "didn't want to risk getting lost," also he could see this way, using my eyes. He was used to being in a body with multiple minds, only, he was the dominant one before. He might still be come to think of it, the Irritating worm.

My walk home was more of a stumble and scrape now. My sides hurt and I'm sure I lost some weight. I needed a walking stick—or a wheelchair, hell, get me a gurney.

Ted kept me talking. I think it was just to make sure I didn't double over and die.

He asked, "So, that thing took you for a ride huh? Made you dream of things? What happened before I came and rescued you?"

That Ted, always reminding me that I almost died without him. I would have to use this opportunity to punish him.

"Oh, it was the best. I was dreaming of my ex-girlfriend. Let me describe her—"

"Actually, I take that back. I know where this is going," Ted interrupted. "I believe you. Go back to groaning or—whatever."

"Let's see, I can only describe her as the extra-most-bestest hot-and-ready pornstar-Barbie I've always wanted," I said dreamily.

"La-la-la I'm not listening," he sang.

"But, and it's a big but, to keep in the pizza theme; to her, Little Caesars' Crazy Bread is just plain ol' bread. She was crazy, which was great sometimes. I would tap that like Morse code."

"Please, I beg of you. I take back all of the bullying I've ever inflicted upon you. Just stop."

"But I'm just getting to the good part. You aren't bashful, are you?" I took a note. Ted, from planet Tedidian-Beta, had a cultural modesty like Earth. I could use that.

"No, I am not bashful. I merely wish not to hear of your conquests," he shot back.

"Well good, then I'll continue. You know that awkward interlude between when you go, and you can go again?"

"I wish to be acquainted with this God fellow you mentioned before. Kill me now so I can meet him."

"Not in a fever dream. Yeah baby. It's all day and all night in there," I tapped my head.

Bullying Ted aside, I really wasn't having that much fun. If you remember, I'm still being held together by glue, but as it turns out, nothing in this place is insignificant. Every small detail would be important to my survival, or lack thereof.

In this case, it would be in the form of those little creatures with way too much skin. When I last saw them, they were in the carved-out tunnel licking clean the protein bar wrapper. Now, I noticed a cautious following of these things. They hid from me when I shined a light towards them, but not completely, always peering around a rock or corner. They were getting braver, perhaps smelling my blood in the air.

Now that I can see them a little better, I think of a quote from one Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German poet.

"Give me an ounce of gold, and I'll plate the whole world."

"Give me just one of these skin aliens, and I'll upholster the whole crypt, throw pillows included," a quote from one Sean Miller, American astronaut, just now.

I aimed Ted's gun, and they all scattered. "Smart enough to know what this thing is," I thought. "Not smart enough not to follow unfortunately."

They kept coming when I turned back, keeping a respectful distance. Whenever I stopped for a break, they stopped. Whenever I sped up, they sped up. Whenever I needed to eat, they too stopped and ate, finding burrowing creatures the way I had when I was opened like a fish. They even stopped to "relieve themselves" when I found nature's call too strong to ignore.

I really shouldn't ignore them. The moment I ignore them, they will assuredly pounce like bloodthirsty rats. Though, it has been a few days. I know, "days" with quotes, but if I don't use some unit of time I am familiar with, I might go insane—or insaner. My circadian rhythm clung to any cycle it could find, like an overly attached girlfriend. It found no rhythm in; when I could eat, lighting level cycles, nor in exertion. As a result, sleep came irregularly, but I still feel the need to call the moments in between sleep "days."

It was days of following and not approaching. Days of me stumbling about when I should be horizontal in a hospital bed. Days of little to no food, and only juicy hydrating glow fungus to keep my lips wet.

They followed like a pack of ugly flat wolves, waiting for the first sign of weakness. I can't think like that. I can't imagine myself being torn apart, prey to another lesser carnivore. Not now, not after having defeated so many greater carnivores. Thoughts like that are bad—bad for me, bad for America.

I miss home. More now that I am semi-coherent. I miss sashaying my way through training of all things. I remember everything leading up to the launch like it was today. It was after the death of the greatest space craze in human history. After 14 more shallow graves were dug on Mars, where no flesh could decompose properly, leaving a final lonely body without a hole of his own to lay in.

That was very sad news to everyone of all nations. We were, for the first time in human history, united in common grief. There were efforts, but no amount of money in the world could save them. They signed up for that, as I had this. No one ever wanted to speak of space again after this, then "it" was found. A thing that punched far and above its weight class in gravitational pull. It just appeared amongst the asteroid field between Mars and Jupiter, affecting neither, and affected by neither. No one knew what it was, or how it got there. It just was.

It was barely big enough to be considered a dwarf planet, but for some reason or another, the lab coats at NASA refused to classify it as such. Pluto had suffered a similar fate, downgraded from planetary status to dwarf planet. How good it must feel to be able to revoke "dwarf planetary membership" from this thing, like what was done to her. Or maybe Pluto would have preferred to have a friend. Schadenfreude vs. loneliness, that was Pluto's dilemma.

Of course, Pluto was just a rock, uninterested in such opinions. This thing, however, was more than that. Sure, it was "rock" but why so heavy? Why just appear out of nowhere? And why do we see movement in the holes peppering its surface?

I am, like the Martian astronauts before me, like the alien explorers long dead, like Ted who was also dead, doomed to a graveless death, no marker left behind but my body.

Then why am I still walking? Why not find a nice little planet with low gravity for my back pain, and maybe some nice aliens that eat what I eat? I could learn their language, and find a nice little blue lady to settle down with. But for some reason, I don't. Even if I have to walk, I will on bloody stumps, make it home. There's that human stubbornness I mentioned earlier, or perhaps delirium.

"My word, you are mawkish," Ted said. "And yes, I know what you were thinking. You were monologuing to yourself, in your own head. Do you like the sound of your own voice? You know, you can think in any voice you want. I've heard you do it."

"Entertaining parasites never was my forte, but I'll work on it."

"Well, while you were listening to the sound of your own inner voice—boring by the way, find a new hobby—I found a pattern in the walls."

"Huh?"

"We are approaching another portal," he spelled out. "Look."

He took control of my right arm and pointed with it. Hidden within images of unknown creatures, chicken scratch I can only assume is language, and other nonsensical markings, was an image of a six-armed alien reaching out to touch the hand of a hunchbacked creature.

I stared at it for a moment, then asked. "How close are we?"

"Very," he said.

I then remembered the planet that nearly crushed me.

"How big is the planet? Can I breathe there?" I asked.

"I don't know, but you are an explorer. Go explore."

"And you're my translator. Translate."

Secretly, I think Ted was more interested in exploring than I was at the moment. I was just internally monologuing about home, but I have to admit, seeing alien worlds is what I signed up for.

I walked on, still followed by my hungry wolf pack, and came to the portal Ted predicted. It was solid like concrete. The residents of this world must have been tired of visitors, or chasing wandering children, and sealed shut this tomb. I placed a hand on the rocky surface.

"Shame. I was really hoping to see the other side," Ted said.

"Can you blame them? This portal appeared in their own backyard. They could have nations like mine. Which nation did it land on? Did that country survive when all others wanted to take this thing? Or even if they were united, this place is full of so much death and danger."

"True," was Ted's reply. "Still though. It's a shame to have to turn back."

We would turn back, but found ourselves cornered by the little rats. They formed a carpet of folds and freckles. When I pointed Ted's gun at them, all but one scattered. That one approached carefully, coming to just about mid-shin height, and laid at my feet, some worm with gills. That one left, and another came. Then another, and another, and another. By the time they were finished, there was a pile of quietly shrieking worms. Knowing my luck, those worms were probably also intelligent, but I won't turn down a free meal.

Had I just gotten here, I would have politely declined, thanked them, and offered them some of my food in return. Now that I have tasted what it takes to survive in a place like this, I knelt down in front of the pile, and ate like a starving animal. I stopped only when my wounds reminded me how inelastic my sutures were.

In stories, people feared alien diseases. Think, the aliens from "War of the Worlds." Honestly, I think that author just wrote himself into a corner. In reality, our diseases never would have evolved to infect alien hosts. The food sources they were after would not have existed in the alien landscape of a Martian's respiratory system unless they originated from Earth. It's the same reason my body struggles to digest any alien creature I come across. I'm here to tell you, If I find a dead human, I'm eating it, no second thoughts. My gut would thank me. You judge, but you haven't been brought to the point I have. The worms did help though. They took the edge off. Thank you, little wrinkly mice.

Apparently, I was to be their big scary bipedal glass-domed monster, emphasis on "their." We found ourselves in a crypt full of monsters and ghouls, and I was the friendliest of them all. Not to mention, this monster just whopped another bigger scarier one's ass, Though, at great cost and bodily harm.

Placing my hand back to the wall, the concrete felt warm. I forgot how cold I was. It turns out, it's cold out here with no sun. One of the few sources of warmth were these portals that happened to exist on a planet's surface.

The largest of the naked rats crawled on a five-limbed chassis towards me, stared up, then to the wall. I'm going to call him Jim-Bob from here on out. His uneven number of limbs each tapped the ground rhythmically, with no real discernible pattern other than the rhythm and semi-constant speed.

"I think he's talking," Ted spoke.

"Can you tell what he's saying?"

"Their speech travels through the ground and I can't feel what they feel because your feet aren't sensitive enough, so no. I can't translate, but I can tell you they are attempting to drill through the concrete."

Sure enough, I looked over, and that's exactly what they were doing. Powerful teeth and grasping claws were hard at work. These creatures had a profound understanding of leverage, and used it well. It wouldn't be long before they made it through, no matter how thick the concrete was.

"That's a bad idea," I suggested.

"Why?" Ted asked.

"They plugged this hole for a reason. What if they were constantly being invaded by aliens and monsters? What if they shoot me on sight? It's best we leave them alone."

Ted was profoundly disappointed, but admitted, "and they could have guards stationed just outside. Then how do you suggest we stop them?"

"Walk away?" I suggested.

I did. The hard workers stopped, looked to me, then scurried to the front of me, leading the way.

It worked. It seemed the rats were desperate to appease me. They were like used car salesmen offering me snacks and water to convince me to buy their most expensive model. Kinda slimy if you think of it, or cute if you squint.

As all things inevitably end up down here, we ran into yet another monster... "yippee," I say in my most nauseated voice.

A lazy xenobiologist would call this thing reptilian, just because it came with scales and feathers, and a forked tongue. Nothing you find off Earth could ever be reptilian, of course, because reptiles never left Earth. Or, as far as I'm aware. The verdict is still out on the dinosaurs.

I take that back. Maybe this is a dinosaur, after 65 million more years of evolution. In that case, I take back what I said about lazy xenobiologists. My inner child hopes against reason to see a dinosaur so much that I'll even tack that title onto something that couldn't possibly be one.

I drew Ted's gun and aimed it. It backed away. Okay then, Maybe we have an understanding.

Its head tilted towards the gun. There was a strong sense of recognition and fear in those eyes.

"Ted? Tell me you didn't shoot one of these when you were alive."

"I assuredly did not," he responded.

"Then why is it looking at your gun like this?"

Next chapter: https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/s/875wnXbxrl