As Mr Major reminisced, he spoke, his gaze seemed to drift into the past, reliving the struggles of his upbringing in the midst of poverty.
"Back in the day," he began, his voice tinged with nostalgia, "when I was just a kid who grew up in poverty on a small private island. My parents’ were involved in a paedophile organization, and the kids in my villages were used to pleasure the rich and influential people who came to the hotels and restaurants on the island.”
The others could hear the anger in his voice as he recalled his past.
“Our neighbourhoods weren't true slums like those of old in the history books. We always had clean water, food to eat, and clean clothes to wear, but we craved emotional connections and social interactions, and the only place we could get that craved attention was from the sick-minded, rich perverts who abused us. Even though we didn't know any better at the time, the things that we had to do were hardcore.
To the rich and powerful, we were all the same in their eyes, genderless kids made of holes that they could use in any old way.” Taking a deep breath, Mr. Major continued. “Things started to change when we started to get older, and around age nine, I met a girl who was two years older than I was.
As a kid of one of these rich and powerful persons who visited the island to indulge in my parents' business, she changed my life when she introduced me at the time to love, compassion, empathy and joy, and I couldn't get enough of it. The only way I knew how to show appreciation was through an intermate connection. At such a young age, all I knew was sex as an expression. Since my words were lacking, I only had action, so we had sex for hours, and then something happened to me that never happened before.
At the time, I was confused as to what it was, but it felt good. My body was running hot then suddenly a coldness took over my body for an instant before I felt powerless and calm.
A year later, when the young lady came back to the hotel, she had with her a newborn kid. I had no idea at the time where babies came from and how they were created, believe it or not. But seeing her with child made me sick and sad that the one person who gave me the world was now on a path of her own, or so I thought. Her parents were upset, and so were my parents, and before I knew what was going on, her family adopted me that day, but to be honest, they most likely bought me from my parents after I started to produce sperm. It wasn’t good for business, and after that first time, it was a feeling that I chased, and my parents clients weren’t fans. However, I had five younger siblings who had made up for my oddity within the business and three older ones who were more controlled, but it was only later when I realized that I was the only one to escape that hell on Earth.”
At the sound of those three worlds, “hell on earth”, the others quivered. But Mr. Major paid them no mind as he continued his story.
“To prevent a long story from being even longer, Its safe to say that at this point you guys know that the girl in the story who came back to the island gave birth to our child. After adoption and I found out, I don’t think I could have loved anything more than that kid and the mother. The word itself represented their existence and to this day, I find myself falling deeper in love with them. However, I didn’t find out I was a father until I turned sixteen and started working, but that same year there was an incident which people would consider it as my awakening to the ways of life. It was finding out about the simple responsibilities of taxes, or the unfulfilment of know your labour could never be properly evaluated, but it was realizing that humans existed was forged from the dark, before the light was called to illuminate the way. But as people born of the dark we yarn familiarity even if it scares us.”
As Mr. Major lowered his tone, the forest temperature fell, too. “ After saving some money that I could call my own I wanted to take the woman who was the container for my light on a trip to expresses my respect, adoration and desire, not just with action but with words. So I told my adopted father of the plan to travel and asked if he could watch my child for the weekend. A pointless gesture seeing as they were rich, and we all lived in their mansion and that his man was my child grandfather, but a pain assaulted my mind along with a flickering image, a memory. To this day I hate myself for ignoring the signs, for forgetting the red flags. On our way to the departure wing of the mansion the pain in my head was getting worst. When I closed my eyes the flashes got brighter under my eyelids. Within my mind the flashes were happening so fast I was starting to give myself mental epilepsy. But as the flashes intensified I started getting glimpses of unfamiliar but familiar places, things, people, and a whole lot of shadowed images. It didn’t take long before I realized that these flashes were suppressed memories that were trying to flash their way back to me, but for what? To warn me? But among one of the flashes my mind stopped on an image of my adopted father. How could I have forgotten this? This image that was once a shadow among the flashes was now brought to the light and it was like a chain reaction. Each memory opening up a sweat gland which attempted to cool the raging heat welling up in my soul. The memories of what that man who was watching my kid was starting to replay in my mind. All the things he used to do to me and all of my siblings, and friends, along with the other kids in the neighbourhood, and I broke knowing that my son was in his care, knowing what that man was capable of and what he could have been doing to my son as I plan a trip! How selfish could I be! How could I forget! How could it leave my source of light behind and travel with the container? How could I leave my love unprotected? How could I forgive myself? How would my child ever forgive me for failing as a father?” Mr. Major’s last words were soft as he tried to hold back the tears as tinny droplets escaped the rim of his eyelids.
“My son's mother was the only person who could have returned my sanity. As we sat on the helicopter waiting for the signal to leave, the head pain was what kept us on the ground longer than expected. Between the headaches mixed with flashes and the mother of my son holding me, there was a period of time that, to this day, is missing from me. Lost in the nothingness void where all things will one day return to. The aftermath of that day led her to use her parent's money and connections to send me away to an uncle that had always looked out for her best interest. And just to clarify, the reason why I had to go away was because I murdered her mother and father. Her uncle was aware of the type of people they were and decided to raise me. But he raised me in the only way he knew how, and that was by sending me to the military to take my anger out and gain some discipline. I did so, and the memories from my childhood were once again surprising.
Rest assured, guys, this grim story is coming to an end soon. While in the military, I was assigned to a mission to stop an insurgency that was taking place in my childhood area, but at the time, I had no idea. Things got so bad on this mission, and to this day, I tried to understand why they would allow me to be on that mission in the first place. Had they no idea of my origin, or was it purposeful? What made things worse was the fact that my parent organization was the cause of the insurgence. They had decided that they were going to rob all the rich people on the island and keep them as hostages, all while blackmailing them. Long story short, they sent in my unit to exterminate everyone who held a weapon up to us, and that day, in my rage, confusion and frustration, my unit killed them all. I killed more people that day than I've ever done in my life. In the battle to clear out the criminals, I personally had to kill my family as I looked them in the eyes without them knowing I was their killer. But that love lightbulb that lived rent-free within me gave me something to live for, something to protect, and once I’m able to do my job and protect them, I’ll never die! So I have to return to them. Nothing and no one could prevent that reality from coming through.”
The forest became quiet as the four men took in Mr Major's dark memory. They realized that this man had been to hell and back, and even though he was facing death in this forest, the thought of dying was nothing new to him. One way or the other, he was going to figure things out.
Mr. Major’s voice had an unsettling calmness as he recounted his story. It wasn’t just the words but the way he said them, as if every sentence was another step deeper into a past he’d rather forget but knew he had to face. The other men shifted uncomfortably, the gravity of his confession sinking in.
“Why did you telling us that story?” Ben asked. His voice was rough, but there was an underlying note of empathy.
Mr Major looked him in the eye, a mix of resolve and weariness on his face. “Because you need to know the type of man you are traveling with. You need to understand that I’m not afraid of what’s out there. I’ve faced worse monsters than the ones lurking in these woods. And if we’re going to survive, you need to trust me and my desire to keep living for my loved ones.”
Scott nodded slowly. “I get it, man. We’ve all got our demons. But we’re here now, and we’re in this together.”
Mr. Major managed a faint smile. “Together. Yeah, that’s what counts.”
The forest remained eerily silent as if it too was contemplating the weight of Mr. Major’s words.
Timmon, wanting to change the mood, added with a chuckle in his voice, "Well, speaking of getting fucked, I once caused a cave-in during an excavation. We were after a rare stone called solar glass rock, or SGR for short. These stones come in three forms: spherical, cylindrical, or flat. The piece I found, over five feet long, was in the time capsule mines of Antarctica. The Arctic continent is famous for its rare stone deposits and for being a prime location to study ancient viruses and diseases. It's not widely known, but the mine goes at least 4000 meters below sea level. It's home to one of the planet's biggest underground research labs and the only place where we can observe ice magma, or cryo-magma.
Cryo-magma is a fascinating substance found in extreme environments deep beneath the Earth's surface, beyond 4000 meters under the sea. It resembles traditional magma but is icy cold, a mix of ice-like slush, gases, and extremely low temperatures. Its viscous, slow-moving nature is similar to magma, but its freezing properties and hazardous gas content make it unique.”
Ben, growing impatient, interrupted, "Who gives a fuck about rocks? Tell us something exciting, like a wild encounter you had. Tell us about a rock-hard moment you probably had putting the tip of your dick in a whore or something. We know how you science nerds get on behind closed doors; even Mr Major's story stayed on theme with the sex despite it being so damn dark. If this was a novel, that story would be where I lost interest.
Timmon glared at Ben. "If you wanted to interrupt, you should have waited until after you told your story and not before. Now, I'm only going to say this once. Stay quiet and wait your turn. Save some energy, and let me finish my story. Maybe I'll forget about this little incident when it's your turn, and hopefully, I won’t disrupt you out of spite at the climax of your story. Plus, there is some fucking in this story; just wait and see. Anyway, back to my story.
"Traditional magma is extremely hot, composed of molten minerals, rocks, and gases, and it moves fluidly, erupting from volcanoes. Cryo-magma, on the other hand, maintains sub-zero temperatures and has a slushy consistency, presenting unique challenges. It can make substances brittle on contact due to the poisonous gases it contains."
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
He paused, gathering his thoughts, then continued, "While traditional magma shapes the Earth's surface and plays a significant role in volcanic activity, cryo-magma remains a phenomenon in select frigid depths, yet to be fully understood and explored.
The mine itself unlike common mines was not a maze. It had a central slope acting as the main access and branch tunnels running horizontal on both side below the 4000 meter, which gave different scientist places to do standalone research. The lower a person gets the longer the horizontal tunnels are.
However, As I was mining for some SGR, I decided that searching at the lowest depth along the main line was the best option I had for discovery; the icy tunnels of the mine echoed with every strike of my pickaxe as I wasted no time in my search for the SGR. That day, I had a feeling that it was going to be a good day. The cold was biting, and it was starting to seep through my suit despite its thermal layers. But it wasn’t enough to force me to stop. Then, I noticed a long white pole embedded in the ice. At first, I thought it was a sphere, from its smooth-looking top. As I shined my light on its surface, the light fractured like a prism, creating a beautiful spectrum in the otherwise stark environment. Glittering blues, reds and greens refracted, and explosions of different colours glittered in and out of existence. Initially, I believed it to be a gemstone, but as I carefully brushed away the layers of ice and observed the cracks, reality set in. It was SGR, and it was cracked. This discovery was unprecedented. The piece was longer than three and a half feet, an unparalleled find that filled me with both excitement and trepidation. Never before had an SGR of such magnitude been unearthed, and there were no records of SGR ever being damaged.
With their perfect spherical geometry, SGR has been instrumental in advancing our understanding of optics, light, gravitational forces, and fluid dynamics. Their flawless surfaces served as ideal calibration standards for scientific instruments, aiding in precise measurements and observations. The study of SGR flat sheets held promise in exploring the properties of two-dimensional materials, potentially revolutionizing fields such as nanotechnology and quantum computing. Additionally, perfect SGR cylinders offered insights into energy storage mechanisms and manufacturing techniques for precision-engineered components.
However, the discovery of a crack in this colossal SGR presented an opportunity for scientific inquiry unlike any other. It could provide invaluable insights into material behaviour and fracture mechanics, revealing the limitations of SGR and prompting new avenues of research. Exploring the crack in the flat sheet could unlock mysteries at the nanoscale, shedding light on fundamental principles governing material properties and interactions.
Ultimately, this discovery served as a reminder that nothing in this world is perfect, and even the most extraordinary finds can harbour imperfections. Yet, it is precisely these imperfections that drive us to delve deeper, to question, to explore, and to push the boundaries of knowledge beyond what we once thought possible.
I started frantically axing away the ice, soil, and rock that were frozen solid. The deeper I went, the more I noticed the temperature dropping unnaturally fast. Just as I heard and saw the pole shift slightly, the ice around it groaned ominously. That's when it hit me. The 'ice magma' could have been causing the extra cold in the surroundings. The tunnel started to make unsettling sounds, and from the readings on my instrument, it was tectonic displacement at fault. I knew I needed to get to the surface immediately, but I wanted to. NO. I needed that SGR, but I couldn’t stay.
Just as I began to retreat, the ice behind me gave way with a deafening crack that was amplified within the suit, followed by a powerful gust of frigid air that pushed me forward. I looked back and saw a thick, slushy substance oozing out – cryo-magma. My suit's alarms were blaring, warning me of a breach and rapidly depleting oxygen. It was a race against time.
Climbing back up the gently reinforced slope caused my limbs to feel like they were turning to lead from the added cold I was now feeling. After some time, I managed to get close enough to a receiver point, which enabled me to call for help, but the trimmer that passed through the tunnel had caused areas of the reinforcement to collapse ahead, blocking the rescue team from getting to me for a quick extraction. They estimated it would take three hours to clear, but my suit's condition and the encroaching cryo-magma meant I didn't have that long. The SGR was being pushed up by the cryo-magma, a surreal and terrifying sight. I stood there, frozen in both fear and awe, thinking, 'What would Gestment do at a time like this?'
With every muscle screaming in protest, trying its best to hold on to mobility, my joints felt like scratching gears, and I clawed my way through the rubble with any head surface item that was yet to break. Hours later, I finally broke through with the help of the rescue team, which was digging consciously from the other side. The cryo-magma was dangerously close as the cold gas pushed the SGR above the ice magma. In those last moments, I could have sworn that I heard the ice mocking me as it crept forward. When I returned days later, after completing a full medical and psych evaluation, I returned to the mines, which happened to be closed off. Lucky for me, when I returned, the SGR was still there at the end of the tunnel, but the cryo-magma had vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared."
"Damn, Timmon, you really did that? That shit sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie. A long, lame and boring one at that! Just like I thought it would be. What were you trying to do? Send us to a sleepy death?" Said Ben,
Timmon simply replied, “What? In the story I almost fucked myself. I did stay on theme like everyone else did. One day, when the world learns about cryo-magma, they'll realize how close we came to understanding something truly extraordinary.” But the others held their heads in their palm, knowing the rebuttal coming.
Ben, who gave the biggest laugh, said, "It's crazy to think about what’s out there, just waiting to be discovered. Makes our problems seem... small. But come on man? Are you for real? Not even in your own story, you were able to fuck yourself? Let me tell you how to tell a good story."
“Have you guys ever tried to make a meal out of insects? Well, I have. One day as a newly wedded triad, I found myself bored out of my mind while my wife and husband were busy decorating the house. As I was out back, thinking of setting up the grill and maybe calling a few friends over, I noticed an ant hill. So, I quickly ran into the house for some sugar and salt, intending to give the ants both a blessing and a curse. Sprinkling salt over the ant hill, I wondered if salt could, in fact, make anything taste good. That's when the idea hit me: why not cook the ants?
I got my cooking set out and started gathering ants. First, I disrupted the nest and placed a plate with sugar nearby, waiting until it was swarming with ants. Then, I put the plate in cold water and slowly raised the temperature. Unsure about any toxins ants might carry, I added alcohol to the water, figuring the heat and alcohol would kill most harmful substances. As the water evaporated, I began adding seasonings—onions, garlic, and peppers—watching everything caramelize. I concocted a stew with okra and spinach, using the ant sauce to garnish the plate. I found most of the herbs in the backyard, as we hadn’t stocked the fridge and pantry yet. Let's just say it was a culinary experiment gone horribly right. Known for my way around a kitchen, I started getting full of myself. My ego was over 5000.
So, my husband and I decided to leave our wife behind and go on a guy's camping trip to do what we do best. Fuck and pump weights in the sun. Haha, just kidding. A poor joke.
A day later, we went shopping, and our wife told us she was happy to stay behind to finish arranging the house. Camping wasn’t her scene. We decided to leave as soon as possible before getting too busy or making excuses not to go. That afternoon, we drove for seven hours to the campsite and set up camp. When we arrived at an uncommon camping ground, my husband asked if I had taken all the boxes out of the truck, which I did. Then he asked about the boxes of food and hunting gear. At that moment, I remembered he had asked me to transfer some boxes from his car to the truck that morning, but I had spaced out while sending off some final work emails.
We planned to stay for two weeks but only managed two days. The first day, we were optimistic. By the second, we went mad. We ate tree bark, drank our piss and sperm, and as birds and wild game teased us, we said, "Fuck it! Let's just be animals in heat!" We lit a fire and started hunting for anything that moved, desperate for food. With seasonings and a variety of sauces, that was the beginning of the end of our camping trip. The shitting we had that evening from all the bugs we consumed could have killed us due to dehydration. If it wasn't for our wife, who sent help after noticing we didn’t call or return for the food and equipment, I probably wouldn't be here dying for a second time among the greens.
Timmon: Not a bad story, to be honest. It's totally you; I can't even hate on you. But it was lame. Why would you leave your wife home? For two weeks, she was doing hard work while the men in her life were off the back mountain. That was pretty selfish. Is this the type of man you want us to remember, or is this the only good story you guys have together? It is a story about two people, excluding the one they love. After hearing Mr. Majors's story about the love for his family, this is what you brought to the story table?
Ben replied with an embarrassing “Shud up. Nobody understands your weird references. And my story isn’t for everyone clearly.”
A few seconds passed before Scott opened up and decided to contribute to the storytelling, hoping to ease the tension between Ben and Timmon. “I would rather talk about survival strategies and cross-reference what we've individually learned in this alien environment to better our chances of surviving. But in the spirit of weary sharing through the dark forest, my story is pretty simple. It might even be less interesting than Ben’s, to be honest. But it’s the weirdest experience among the five of us, I can assure you of that. Have you guys ever tried to rescue a cow stuck in a swimming pool before? It's a surreal mix of panic and comedy. There I was, enjoying the weekend, wearing my floral print speedos because I’m the shit, attempting what I now call the 'Bovine Aquatic Intervention.' The first of its kind.
Picture this: a cow, looking like it's questioning its life choices, bobbing around like it's auditioning for a remake of 'The Little Mermaid.' A cow. In a pool. How the hell did it get there? Did it think it was auditioning for 'Dancing with the Hooves'? Who knows?”
Timmon quickly interjected, “Wait, do you guys know about 'The Little Mermaid' and 'Dancing with the Stars'? How are you not familiar with my references?”
“Anyways,” Scott said, continuing, “I was at the pool, trying my best to coax this large cow out of the water. And let me tell you guys, if you didn’t know already, cows are not excellent swimmers. At all. The pool wasn’t as deep as some others, but it was large and deep enough to be a problem for the cow. As it twisted and turned in the pool, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. Somehow, the cow was doing a perfect butterfly stroke—in cow terms, that is. Even though it wasn’t the best time for my mind to wander, I found myself contemplating giving the cow a score out of 10. But reality kicked in as the cow's mooing rang throughout the air. The cow needed saving, and I was the only person available to get the job done.
I called my buddy, who was also a lifeguard because clearly, this cow was in deep water—literally—and I wasn't going to be the only person to get a horn in the lungs after messing around with a drowning cow. He arrived, and we concocted this plan involving floaties and a lasso. It was a cow rescue mission, and it was going 'udderly' hilarious. We managed to guide the cow to the shallow end and hoist it out. Picture a dripping wet cow being pulled out of the pool like a soggy superhero.
But here's the punchline. The cow's name? Was, 'Sir Loin.' Yes, you heard that right. Sir Loin, the cow. I kid you not. That made it even funnier to me. I guess the pool party was just too irresistible for a knight of the beef’s round table.
And that, my friends, is how I spent my Saturday, herding a cow out of a pool. It was just another day in the life of a suburban cowboy with a knack for peculiar rescue missions.”
Timmon: “So you guys know of king Arthur, but not Sherlock Holmes. How? I don’t even know if to call it a gap in knowledge. What you know and don’t know is so random.”
Tobi: “Did you get any vaginas from the local female cow lovers in the area?”
Scott: “NO.”
Ben: “Did any of you fuck a cow?”
Scott: “What? No! Why would we? Plus, it was a bull.”
Ben: "So? And don’t blame me for being confused you called the bull a cow.”
Scott: “I also said it had horns. and why the jump from having sex with women to cows? I don’t really get that jump. This is why I don’t like you dude.”
Their stories, all strange and personal, wove a peculiar tapestry of life experiences as they trudged deeper into the heart of the unknown forest, their pasts a distant anchor in a world turned upside down.
Laughter and reminiscences provided brief reprieves from the crushing weight of their predicament. Tales of cherished moments with loved ones, past ambitions, and dreams that had shaped their lives briefly eclipsed the darkness. But the mood shifted, delving into the shadows of their pasts, dredging up regrets and haunting memories. They couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever see their families and friends again, piecing together the fragments of their shattered lives.
As they returned to their silent walk, they all became aware of the forest's eerie soundscape surrounding them. After ignoring the noises for many hours as they mindlessly walked, each rustle and creak now sent shivers down their spines, reminding them of all the native animals they came in contact with. Uncertainty hung heavy in the air, a disquieting silence absorbing their whispered conversations into the abyss.
Scott's voice broke the silence, a note of urgency in his tone. "Wait! Is that what I think it is?"
Ben's curiosity was piqued. "What?"
Scott's excitement was palpable. "Running water?"
Tobi's voice chimed in, slightly embarrassed. "Oh, that's me. That's my pee." he casually walked, taking a pee behind them.
Ben's reassurance followed. "It's just Tobi relieving himself while walking bro, Relax already."
Mr Major's firm interjection shifted the focus. "NO! He's onto something. I can hear it but it's not as loud as it was when we heard it in the forest, its a bit off to our right now. Good catch, Scott."
Ben: Wait, so did we, at some point, walk away from the original water sound? How? Are we walking around in circles again? Why is the source of water moving? There goes humanity's best chance for plumbing and electricity. We are dead men walking now. I might as well pee right now since keeping this water in me is pointless and toxic.