Eulogy 0 v2

Eulogy 0

Light filtered through puffs of ash kicked up from his steps. Blood-red sunlight reflected off the polarized visor. His helmet became a carapace and bobbed against the star. He raised his gloves and swept black grime from his vision port.

The boy looked back. He saw nothing—only crimson light touching deep furrows matching his boots. The trail he left would persist if it could still be seen. The air around him had grown deathly still; he turned his head forward. He placed his left before his right; the boy's neck groaned in pain.

An entire lifetime couldn't change the unbroken expanse. Dead air and cloudless skies left no trace of forest or lake. He could see and see and see, an ember land.

The butt of his hazmat suit hit the ground, sending ashen jets skyward. Dust settled on his environment suit, and the orb hung low in the sky. That damn burning ball held the blame. It at least got to put its head down for rest.

The boy's visor cleared as he hit the helmet twice. Olive-green irises stood out against blooded whites. Fading light caught them; they flashed pale, almost lime.

The boy shivered, and his brows furrowed; he rubbed his stinging eyes. He closed his lids, heavy, then opened them. Nothing had changed.

His eyes transformed into moss-etched stones when the sun finally fell. He sat--and watched--the world die again. A single breath fell from stretched lips.

The sky opened up, and he stared for a long-long-long moment. He gazed at ridges of mountains and saw the glow of distant valleys. He spoke to the sea between them and whispered to the winds. His vision took him to a lion and a viper wrapped in leaves.

The straps on his bag came undone. He scrunched his nose and grabbed a nutrient bar. He peeled back the wrapper and hit the helmet three times again. His cheeks, stained with night black, had faded completely into the land.

He pushed the tip of the bar past his lips. His features remained plain, and he didn't move a muscle. He sighed again and slowly relaxed. Maybe at one point food wasn't trash. Maybe?

He chewed slowly and softly, jaw muscles repeating the movement. Eventually the entire bar was gone; the empty wrapper was all he held. He balled it up and dropped it onto the ground. The foil winked once and was absorbed into the earth.

He collapsed into the pile of ash he'd built, lying there in the quiet dark. One by one, stars came to greet him, tracing orange paths as they showered. Thousands upon millions bloomed in the sky.

His eyes closed for more than a moment, and his arms and legs stretched out. Rhythmically they flapped up and down, then in and out, then back and forth. His wings formed as his robe took shape, and he put his halo on last.

As an unseen outline upon the ground, he flew free amongst stars. Just until he could see again. Then he sank back down once more. His back was black with soot, and his hair was matted with ash. His wet eyes twitched.

Thoughts could have swum through his head. Maybe only of sleep. There might have been one of food. One of warmth? He couldn't be sure. He didn't know what he remembered. He didn't know how to recall.

The white automatic tent didn't take long to deploy. Its rusty gears jingled as he surfaced it from the bag. Chunky movements raised supports until they barely locked into place. It stood like a monument, the peak of the flat land.

The boy crawled to the entrance, and his rivers ended for the day. He couldn't stand inside, so he huddled through its portal. His pack scraped the flap and tore a harsh gash through its seam. It'd have to do; he didn't think he had thread.

The light orb was cool blue. He stared through its surface. What was he supposed to see? Was there a fairy inside? Did it matter to him? Probably not. It gave him light.

He broke eye contact and grabbed the bedroll. It was mounted on the wall. Was it soft or hard? He couldn't feel through his gloves. He slipped them off and tossed them down. The metal hands pinged off the ground. They bounced once and then forgot sound.

He stripped. His skin was grey-black. He might have thought it looked good. Sea-glass eyes flashed in dim light.

His stomach rumbled; he heard it. He grabbed for a nutrient bar. Did they always taste like shit? He placed it between his lips. Fuck, he had forgotten to take the wrapper off.

He picked plastic out of his teeth. The plastic tasted worse. They both disappeared bite by bite.

He was so, so, so fucking bored. Or was he? He pulled off the boots. He wiggled his toes in delight.

He gripped the boots with his cracked nails. The soles were peeling again. He'd have to fix them soon. There might be liquid sealer left in the bag.

Nope.

His head swam; where was his water bladder? Was it buried in his storage pouch? Was it caked with ash? He grabbed for it. Water sprayed on him as the drinking hose snapped. The bladder snapped at a small crack.

Now he got to be wet. He groaned. He quenched his thirst through the crack. The bladder flew across the room. It hit the back wall and slipped back into storage.

His head met the hard pillow. It felt like a damn brick. Bricks were hard, right? His neck would hurt in the morning. It hurt now.

At least the blanket was dry. He pulled it over him and flipped on his back. He flipped back and forth. Stomach to back. Back to stomach.

He felt like he remembered "Pancakes"? He felt like a pancake.

"Sssssss."

He flipped to his back. Did they sizzle?

Maybe.

He shrugged.

His eyes reflected sterile light. He stared and stared and stared. What was there to stare at?

He pulled a book from his side. He opened to a random page. He looked at the paper. The symbols danced in his head. It was a waltz he hadn't learned.

What else was there to see?

Cold light? Black walls? Broken water pouches? Half-eaten wrappers?

The boy didn't think. He placed the book back gently. He rolled on his side.

"Sssssss."

He clapped his hands twice. The liquid blue orb died. It was dark. He closed his eyes. He coughed out ash. He died for the night.

Blue light entered his eyes. He spat up ash. Had he been asleep? Had he gone to bed? Had he eaten? Must have, or the light wouldn't have come on.

He sat up and grabbed for the bladder. Water sprayed as the small hose slipped. The bladder's seal had gone bad. He sucked water from the wound. He kicked the bladder across the tent.

His boots came on first. The soles had peeled off. Did he have any cement left?

No.

Damn. They'd have to do.

He pulled on the faded green suit. His gloves attached next. He grabbed for a nutrient bar. He peeled the wrapper. The bar was crushed by stained teeth.

"What was it like to chew?"

He mumbled through mouthfuls of crap.

He popped the helmet on. "Buzzzzz." He hummed as he fit it snugly. He slid the visor down. He and his bag crawled out the flap.

Grimy gears clunked, and the teepee collapsed.

Red light filtered from that damn orb on his back. The visor polarized. His eyes flashed one last time. Bloodshot and green.

He carefully hoisted the tent into the bag and put it on his shoulders. The waist belt was quietly buckled, and the last straps were secured. His left foot came in front of the right, brushing a tiny dune aside. He started to walk.

His footprints traced along the endless field of ash. Baby ridges had formed where night winds had blown. His carapace bobbed and examined the outstretched land. Crimson light refracted again through morning dust.

His steps crunched on the ruined field, and crunched, and crunched. Lazy swirls of prints followed him in delicate streams. Their depth varied when his feet dragged. They became canyons at one end and ditches at another. They were all black, every last one. The peeling soles were the brush that left a mark upon the land.

The streams dragged for miles, forming valleys and mountains. Blood-red light hit the ridges, and forests of fire appeared. Those small streams became creeks; the creeks became rivers. They all eventually came to the midnight sea.

How long? How long had these streams become? He couldn't make the thought.

He swayed his feet one over one and then back. He crossed one foot over the other and jumped it right back. He jumped five steps forward and then three steps back.

He looked back and saw his world of craters and mars.

As the sun beat down, the bloodshot sky grew brighter and colder. The boy shivered as dead-still air tore through him. His feet stopped on top of his newest mountain, and the loose ash collapsed. Its soot surface melded into the sea, and his boots sank down.

He took off his white pack and let it drop to the ground. It looked like a lonesome island on the sea.

He pulled out a nutrient bar. It tasted like shit.

His hands gently pressed the helmet and slid the visor up. He curled his lips and chewed the bar. He spat—he'd forgotten the wrapper.

He coughed up some ash and threw the bar on the ground. The bar and wrapper created a puff of ash as they met earth. The wrapper glinted gold one last time, and then it was lost. His eyes grew dark as he squinted and looked out.

There was nothing out there, just him. A pancake. He sizzled.

"Sssssss."

His eyes caught the light again, and he hammered the visor down. It polarized, and he was back to work on the delta of his plane. He kept at that task until the red star touched the ground.

When the day was done again, he laid the helmet down. The tent came out of the bag, and the world was crowned. He looked at the tear along the seam. He wondered what color thread would look best for the fix. He wedged himself through the too-small flap.

Did he have thread left? No. Crap.

This night was the same. He ate. He drank. The bladder broke. He kicked.

His neck hurt.

He picked a new book. He opened a random page. He stared for a while. He carefully placed it back.

His hands clapped twice. He died.

He was raised from the dead. His suit came on. He ate some trash. He got wet again.

"Pssshhhhh." "Roger, Roger, set for the day."

He clambered out the flap.

Orange and red light hit his face again. The world glimmered and shone, and new dunes had been born. He turned back and watched his hated friend appear. He slipped the long tent in his bag. He took a moment and made sure it was tightly secured. Off he went on the soil black as night.

Rivers of fire and ebony appeared through the day. He made a new set of rivulets, and his acquaintance lit them ablaze. The friends worked on their art. They occasionally moved in a subtle daze. His friend would part, and they'd say their goodbyes.

His other million companions would begin to say hi. They'd wink and smile, and he'd stare for a long while.

The stark obelisk would be erected again. He'd disappear inside hurriedly and call it his home.

His ritual would begin. And then it would end.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He finished another day, and then another came to its end.

The light caught him, and for a moment he was blind. He thought his vision had cleared and stared out. It was faint, almost impossible to see. There was black? Or was it just the sun?

He felt the light enter him, and he dropped his pack down. It made a gasp of ash when it landed hard. The teepee came out again, whirring and spinning as it rose. It clunked and sputtered and couldn't fully erect itself. He pulled his pack with him and burrowed in and tore the seam further. He wondered what color thread would look best for the fix.

The inside was shorter tonight. His routine wasn't. He kicked off his boots. He stripped nude. The bar tasted like shit.

He tried to find some sealer to fix his soles. He didn't have any left. Fuck, they'd have to do.

His head felt light. He grabbed for his water. The drinking tube sprayed across his face. He sucked on the hole. He chucked it across the room.

He lay down on his brick. He picked out another novel. He looked at it for a while. He gave up and put it gently back.

He rolled on his back. He stared at blue light. He spat out ash. He clapped twice.

"Ssssssss."

His eyes came open before the light. It was dark. Had he slept? He thought he had. Was he supposed to be wet?

The routine was different but the same. He fumbled for his boots. The room was black. He dragged up his environment suit. He could only touch its seams. Next, he clipped his gloves in. He wiggled his fingers. The motion was hidden in the dark.

He chewed on his shitty bar. There was no glint of gold. He swallowed it in two bites. It felt settled in his stomach. His helmet came on. "Pssshhhhh," he said as it descended. "Roger, Roger, set for the day."

He had put it on backwards. He couldn't see through the back. He tripped and fell out the dark flap.

His mouth filled with ash. He spun the helmet around. He coughed out soot from his lungs. He turned to stand. He saw the heavens above. He fell on his back.

There was a lion fighting a viper with an army around. His arms and legs took flight, and his wings and cape formed. His ass jiggled, and his head bobbed, and he crowned himself in gold.

He watched the stars float and coast above. He sailed with them on their bright waves. He fell through the colors and lights, and for once he felt. Delight.

Grey rays of light started to dot the horizon. The great blooded giant had awakened for another day. It spat streams of liquid crimson silk across the barren land. It lit up all the rivers he'd so diligently built.

He squinted with the sun. He peered into the far reaches of its rays. And there he could see.

Only a plane.

"Roger, Roger, time for another day."