June 26th, 2007

Lower Visitor Center - Information Desk

Outside: 98.6°, humid

Inside: 68.4°, dry

Weather: Unknown

2:15pm

Even after the last group of families clamored off the swaying box, I found myself stuck there again. Hands still clasped, I just kept telling myself I could just leave now, never even consider returning--

"Hey, uh... you here for training too? You sure packed light."

Raising my head in genuine surprise, my hands fell to my lap, forgotten instantly. The look on my face must have been a little more than suprised, however.

The younger punk standing in front of me couldn't possibly be anything but freshly turned 18. Even though the lanky kid had at least an inch or two on me in height, I felt the carefree naivete just bursting from the redhead, who was currently re-tying his ponytail, his peculiarly long bag dropped to the floor softly beside him.

"So I guess I won't have to shave then?" I mumbled, with a hopeful little half-smile. I liked my hair.

I looked like my Dad with it.

He chuckled, a sort of giggly sound, and took my one duffel for me, slinging it over his shoulder with his own several bags, including the weird one. They had enamel pins and patches all over them, and looked haphazardly packed, sleeves and bits still stuck in the zippers.

"I sure as hell hope not. Then I will, too."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

We started walking before I'd even realized I'd gotten up, me trying to reach for my bag but having it snatched away again.

"Ah! Tell me your name first."

This guy was most definitely a weirdo.

Two's company, I thought to myself. A normal person would have decked this kid for being so daring.

But I didn't have the energy to be aggressive. I hadn't slept well the night before. I had started having chronic nightmares after the accident.

I paused for a brief second, deciding how much information to provide my new co-worker.

"Damien," I said shortly, gesturing.

"You?"

"Rado. Buddies back home call me Rod," he shrugged.

"Neither is my legal name, so either works for me."

"Hiding from someone?" I asked, a little too knowingly.

He gave me a sort of awkward glance, like I was not in the loop of something I should be.

"Just... I've heard you get a reputation, working here. I requested to use a nickname for privacy."

I suddenly felt a little stupid for not properly doing my research.

I was so eager--

... why was I so eager?

I was definitely still scared.

I wasn't even sure exactly why I'd done any of this, besides money.

Mom & Dad though... I want to keep this place safe.

Like you wanted.

For years, my parents had lobbied for the park to be shut down, calling it words like "hubris" and "exploitative", that man didn't belong crawling around in the guts of a living creature. It made us no better than parasites.

My dad really used that word a lot, about Pit tourism.

"Exploitative of the innocent people who don't understand the sheer gravity of the situation, and exploiting a living, breathing, bleeding creature for profit. That... is what I mean by exploitative."

I remembered it from a national news interview. My father had his usually shaggy hair neatly groomed, along with his short beard, little round glasses perched on his long nose, and he was speaking to a young male news anchor from the same spot I'd been standing in line for the gondola. We'd all turned to gather around the bulky flatscreen my grandma had purchased to watch it during a visit before she passed, me staring with childhood admiration and my mother beaming with pride. My grandmother didn't understand the fuss, but her son was on national television and that was all that mattered to her right then.

But that's over now. A completely irrelevant story.

"You good man?" Rod nudged me slightly, as we walked behind the counter into the administrative center.

I let out a long sigh and nodded.

"Just reminiscing." I said, and my tone must have hit correctly because Rod shugged and we walked in silence after that.