The alabaster desert stood infinite in vastness and nearly wholly empty throughout. Upon every direction spanned a dreadful nothingness, simply endless plains interspersed by the occasional rising dune. Though through this vast nothingness a small trench did carve its path. Though barely a meter deep, and its beginning had long since been buried by the sandy winds, the trench was there. A splattering of red dew had dotted itself along the trench once though its source had long since coagulated leaving the rest of the ever expanding trench as perfectly monochrome as the rest of the grand desert.
At the fore of this trench was a large mass of chains roughly the size of a child that would slowly inch forward with every strained pull. Tied to this mass of chains was the boy himself. His rough ebony clothing pockmarked with holes, though the wounds underneath had long been clotted with that alabaster sand. The boy knew not for how long he had been marching nor did he care to ponder. To stop and think would be to give his muscles the chance to protest, to give his body the choice to rest, to allow his mind the opportunity to wander. No, the boy just had to think one more step; that’s the only thing in the world that mattered, was that one step. After that, he could dedicate his whole being to the next one step, and with his entire focus on just the one step he needed, the boy could keep moving forward; because without, it would be all too easy for the sands to take him.
It was just a matter of time however, before the malleable land shifted and his weakened legs too soar would fail to recover dropping the poor child to the ground. Downed and exhausted, the boy reflexively wiped his brow though there was no sweat to clear away, he had long since lost the capacity for that. The boy managed to weakly turn himself onto his back to gaze up to the inky skies, for another night more, no stars rose to fill it. The boy knew he had to stand, he had to take that next step else his body would betray him and steal this opportunity for rest. It was too late though, the boy’s eyelids fell, and a dreamless rest took him away.
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The boy awoke to the sight of a large, twisted face, it seemed to ooze off the spongy flesh that was barely holding onto it. The boy’s mind immediately roared to attention though his body refused to move. Trapped in sleep paralysis the boy could only watch as that horrific face oozed down ever closer until it drooped against the boy’s own cheek. He begged for his body to act, for his arm to shoot up and swat his offender but it slept on without his mind. The large jaws of the melting man opened, gummy sinew threaded through his teeth, and then… he chomped down on the boy.
The spark of pain quickly jolted his body awake and the boy’s arm immediately rocketed into his attacker’s throat. The man’s brief gasp of pain was enough for the boy to hurriedly crawl away and aim his watering can at his foe. The melting man froze upon seeing the weapon. Now that he stepped back, the boy could fully take in the form of his attacker. He, or rather it, was barely even human anymore, its head fully deformed into a grotesque fungal growth, its clothing blown to tatters as more mushrooms had grown all throughout the once man. Disturbingly, the boy could see within the mouth of the monster was a small patch of flesh, his flesh. The fungal creature eagerly munched upon that flesh, hungrily suckling away whatever little blood it could manage. Though the creature ravenously quenched itself upon the flesh of the child, it did not move as it watched frozen at the weapon before it. If the fervour with which it suckled upon that flesh wasn’t telling enough, then the chain protruding from the creature’s chest was, it was just a few links long before the chain broke, connecting to nothing.
An even harsher panic rushed through the boy and he quickly scanned around but when he saw nothing he relaxed “What are you doing alone fleshstalker?” The creature said nothing, merely watching the boy and his watering can. The boy glared at the despicable beast then moved to take a step forward. As soon as he did, the fleshstalker immediately bolted away. The boy tried to give chase but was rapidly tugged back by the heavy pull of his chained mass yanking him downwards. Aching on the ground, the boy could only watch as the wretched fleshstalker ran away with a piece of his own flesh. The boy let out an exhaustive sigh as he watched the creature slowly disappear over the horizon. Eventually, the boy pulled himself up to a sitting posture and held out his watering can before him. The boy cupped his hand and began tilting the can so that the upwards facing spout poured over his hand. He hung the can nearly completely upside down, but no liquid poured. The boy grunted and gave a few harsh shakes before a very tiny drop of white liquid fell out. The boy looked at the measly thing in his cupped hand “Damn it.” With a heavy sigh he rubbed the white liquid over his gashed cheek. The liquid quickly absorbing into his skin which feebly knitted itself back together, though the flesh was still clearly raw. With an annoyed huff, the boy stood up and began to walk once more, one step at a time.
Night was eternal in this place, so the boy had no reference of time. He simply moved from one step to the next until he eventually arrived to something that could, under a certain light, be construed as a city. It was far larger than the previous town at the very least, though just as desolate. More twisting impossible architecture, more boarded up windows, and more doorways blocked tight with stacked with old, decayed furniture. It was always the same through this eternal white desert, endless empty dunes pockmarked sporadically by the occasional empty hostile towns carrying nary a sound: but no. Stressing his ears, the boy could hear some odd noises coming from the far end of the town’s main thoroughfare. It was a strange warbling sound, similar to the agonized cries of a tortured victim, but somehow dramatically different in some odd unidentifiable way. As the boy cautiously approached the not-screaming with his watering can defensively raised up before him, he slowly came to discern the noise. It was… laughter? The boy didn’t quite understand it at first; it wasn’t the malicious laughter of a predator playing with its prey, nor was it the cracking hysterics of a victim lost to insanity; it was… genuine… jubilant… humour?
The boy ever so carefully approached the building that homed this odd sonic anomaly, and an odd anomaly requires an odd building to house it. The entrance to the building had a pair of small swinging glass gates to bar entry, no barricades or stacked furniture, the ‘door’ didn’t even fully enclose the entrance way; it was wholly defenceless to any intruder. A harsh explosion of that questionable laughter burst out from the mysterious establishment and the boy could do naught more than to take a great inhale and brave barging through.
As soon as the boy breached through the pathetic excuse of a door he was stunned to be met by a… saloon. A typical open spaced establishment with a long winding bar and large round tables. It was a pathetic saloon, the large bar and furniture all made of the same daunting ebony of all the architecture in this dastardly desert. The drink racks at the back of the place all completely empty, and all with no bartender to man it. Yet somehow, this dark, dreary, desolate building still felt welcoming; all due to a small table tucked off to the side, sat around which were two jovial people sharing raucous laughter and clinking empty glasses.
The man at the table was as uninteresting as they came; he bore a few patches of fur to signal his early transformation but still a gleam to his pores showed that he hadn’t entirely dehydrated yet. He was clearly a new entrant to this world, old enough to hurdle over the initial grieving of death, but not old enough for the eternal apathy to have set in. Even his chain was uninteresting, five links large it dangled awkwardly above his navel. Hanging from the chain was a small book that opened at both sides with about as many white pages on one side of the book as there were black pages on the other. It was a common enough item, and a common enough ratio that it hardly even needed mentioning.
Though, it wasn’t the man that the boy was interested in; the woman next to him however, she was a different story. She had long lost whatever humanity she once held, an endless cascade of fat piled upon itself easily pooling out of the seams of her straining black dress, her neck was basically non-existent as her heavy head drooped over into her thick shoulders, two large tusks jutted sharply from her wide mouth. She was inarguably a fat, ugly, walrus.
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The boy’s eyes immediately locked onto her chain, twenty-six links long, and at the end of it hung a large bottle of wine. Two necks stuck out of the bottle, one on the bottle’s top and the other on its bottom, but it was the inside of the bottle that fascinated the boy. This large wine bottle hanging from the fat walrus was nearly entirely filled with a brilliant white liquid, only a single drop of black swirling within.
The fat walrus was first to notice the boy, her immediate shock at seeing his impossibly long chain was soon replaced with a grotesque sneer of many coiling folds of fat, and he nearly readied for a fight until the back of his mind distantly recognized her act as that of smiling. “Hey Kid! Come and join us! Have a drink!” the woman cheerily yelled as she pulled a chair back for the boy.
The boy didn’t make any moves to sit and rather just scowled at the woman “Those glasses are empty.”
The woman easily replied back in a large booming shout, seemingly the only volume she knew how to speak with “Well yeah! But its fun to pretend isn’t it!” Ignoring the boy’s incredulous look, she took a big large gulp of the nothingness in her cup and then harshly slammed the glass onto the table letting out a great satisfied sigh “That hits the spot!”
The boy did not respond, he, he had no words. The Wine however was fine to continue the conversation on her own “Come on Kid, you have to try the cherry flavor!” The boy simply hardened his scowl refocusing on the chain that hung from her chest “You’re Wine?” he half asked, half stated.
“Cassidy actually.” She grinned widely as if that simple declaration was the greatest thing possible. The boy was unconvinced cocking a single disbelieving brow “You know your name?”
The Wine grinned even wider if that was somehow possible “Yep! I came here with this awesome photo of me and my family!” She sent one of her broad arms deep into the folds of her fat and pulled out a small photograph. The boy approached the table, curiosity beating over his insecurity, and he looked at the photograph. It was a family portrait of a beautiful woman in her early thirties hugging tightly to a pair of young boys, one giddily returning the hug, while the other grumpily protested the affection. To the side of the three was a tall strong built man blurrily trying to run into frame. The whole scene was back-filled with a beautiful tropical beach. On the border of the frame was a set of names: Cassidy, John, Grant, and Henry.
As the boy moved to look at the photo, the Wine continued to gush “ So now no matter how long I’m stuck here I can always pull out this little thing and remember that my little munchkins are out there waiting for me!” Just as the Wine seemed to forever be able to broaden her smile, the boy could similarly do so and deepen his scowl, which he certainly did as he analyzed the photo. Eventually he satisfactorily concluded his study, and he simply shook his head “That’s not you, she’s pretty.” The statement was made so matter-of-factly that it completely shattered the Wine’s smile “Well death hasn’t been kind to me Kid.”
“Clearly.” The boy deadpanned and the Wine harrumphed back making a large show of crossing her arms and pouting, though obviously done with humour. The boy continued “Anyways Wine, did you-“
The Wine was quick to interrupt with a happy and loud correction “Cassidy!”
The boy grumbled “What?”
Though the boy’s confusion only drew mirth from the Wine “Not even close! Its Cassidy! Ca-ssi-dy!”
The boy was not impressed “I’m not calling you that.”
“But its my name!” She exclaimed with a little exasperation, throwing her arms in the air for emphasis.
The boy could only roll his eyes in exacerbation “You don’t have a name.”
His stubbornness seemed to only entertain the strange woman “Well I didn’t realize I was meeting the king of the desert dictator of names!” she sarcastically drawled and gave the boy a dramatic bow, or as much of a bow as she could manage through her folds of fat. She then put on a heavy faux accent which the boy assumed was meant to mock some old Victorian-esque aristocracy “Will thou royal highness bestow a name then upon this lowly ‘nameless’ peon?”
None of the Wine’s tomfoolery ever levied the child’s strict countenance and he replied with the ever same harsh irate tone “Wine.”
The woman returned with her over dramatic pout “I prefer Cassidy.”
The boy grumbled, disapprovingly to him, cutely to her “I prefer the truth.”
She beamed him the greatest smile he’d ever seen happily replying “Great, Cassidy it is!”
The boy shut his eyes, trying to centre himself passed his frustration and chose the best course of action was to simply ignore her “So Wine, did you talk to a coin a while ago? You were looking for a siphon?”
Once he asked the question she immediately startled into panic “Shhhh, don’t say that so loud it’s a secret!”
The boy briefly thought about giving in to curiosity and asking the question she was so obviously waiting for, but soon decided that it wasn’t worth the mental gymnastics she would force him through, not even considering how hard it already was to keep her on topic. “So you believe that there’s water out there?”
At that moment the Book laughed, reminding the child that he was still in fact still there, and also reminding him that the Book was still barely worth noting. The Wine on the other side seemed to show the first ever sign of weakness, she furled into herself, defensive and unsure “What of it?” Seeing the Wine was clearly holding this belief with great importance, the Book wisely shut up, and the boy finally smirked “I’m looking for water.”
The Wine’s smile was positively glowing. It wasn’t that her joy earlier had been faked, but just that the comforting release of finding another wishful dreamer in these dreary lands were so great that she couldn’t help but shine “Really!? I’m looking for Justicia!”
The boy scoffed at her response and immediately The Wine’s smile was sapped away to nothingness “Justicia doesn’t exist.”
There was genuine hurt that flitted through her eyes at having such a wonderful connection so harshly and rapidly ripped away. Her pain quickly turned to anger and for the first time since the boy met her, she turned angry “She too is real! I saw it for myself!”
The boy glowered at her expressive tone, but he was much more interested in her words “You saw Justicia?”
She lost a lot of her fire at that question “No… but I saw a star. So, so I know she must be.” She then turned to a jeer, venomously retaliating at the child “How about you huh? Why is Justicia so hard to believe when you’re happy to traipse about looking for water? Where’s your evidence?”
The boy glowered at the affront “I just believe.” With that, any malice or aggression the Wine once had was immediately wiped away as she saw before her a child. Looks in this forsaken place were deceiving, but her sneer quickly washed to a surprised pity as she couldn’t deny the thing that stood before her: an angry, lonely child. “You just believe?”
The boy nodded, steeling his resolve “I have to believe.”
He glared at the Wine, daring her to refute him, but instead she beamed him a magnificent smile “Well then that’s good enough isn’t it? You know what Kid, why don’t you join me? I’m heading north-west, that-a-ways was where I saw the star shoot up from. If you don’t really have a specific direction your heading he could stick together. As one dreamer to another!”
The boy pondered over the offer, it was always safer to journey over the deadly desert in groups, and her ludicrous amount of good karma would be undoubtedly useful; however, on the other hand he would have to bare the full force that was this woman for an unknowable amount of time. Before the boy had time to answer, the unremembered and unwanted Book interjected “Umm, you should probably just give up in that case. I heard Angel was prowling about in that direction.”
The boy definitely sneered at that, whether to brave this woman was one thing, but to dissuade his mission and question his might was another. He bit back at the Book “I’m not afraid of Judges.”
“Angel isn’t any Judge, they say he has seven wings.”
The boy laughed at the ridiculousness “There’s no such thing as a Judge with seven wings. The most I’ve ever seen was five.”
His two conversationalists were momentarily stunned by the implication that this boy met a five winged angel and lived, but the Wine broke the silence with a snort. “You know for a wild dreamer, you don’t believe in a lot.”
The boy haughtily threw his nose in the air “Either way, I’m not afraid of any Judge. I’ll go with you Wine-“
“Cassidy.” She quickly corrected.
The boy swallowed heavily with a large dry gulp “I’ll go with you Ca-“ the word choked at the back of his throat, his body refusing to say it. He swallowed once more and steeled himself “I’ll go with you... Wine.”