A hunched figure stood beside a trash can. His fingers clawed their way through the mess and muck, looking, searching, for whatever it was he so longed for.
His fingers, bloody and scratched grasped onto the faint green hope he so desperately seeked; a cabbage.
Slowly, softly, savoring the taste as he bit into the prize he finally obtained, Cpt. Rachet recounted the days in his youth.
He was of the greatest beginnings, but now he lived a simple lifestyle of little decadence and large freedom. Collecting free food sources from the local population, and feasting his appetite for entertainment on fictions written by bad authors on the site: “Regal Rampart Litterers”. He looked around the dainty little place that he had called his home for the past week, “WacMonald’s”, a very popular food locale for the populace.
How did he end up in such a place you ask? Well, the obvious answer would be he walked there as he had no other mode of transport, idiot. He cared not for hygiene or bodily care, as evidence by the slight green tinge in his hair denoting the presence of mold and possibly something worse. No, the Captain dedicated his life to living in simplicity, avoiding the dredge of paying bills and doing work, he had done enough of that in his twenty-one years of existence.
Four-score and 12 years ago, he had been sailing the merry seas, in much the same way. But that was a different time, a different man. Back then he had fulfillment and joy, and a desire to always improve and strive to be better. The Captain from then was a man that deeply contrasted this current version of himself.
He recounted the harrowing tales of adventure and romance. The intertwining politics that led him to cross the world and more.
Casting those thoughts aside, he muttered to himself “Those days have gone!” while waving his hand madly. “They’re not coming back! I only wish for peace now...”
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If an observer was watching the grotesque man, they might have spotted a small streak run down his face. But as it was, there was no observer, for if a stranger saw him they would liken his appearance to that of a beast, a monster born from the feral wills of humanity and its incarnations.
But unknown to the narrator above, the God Ero observed in silence, like he did for all the mortals in his realm. He was the incarnation of wills, of thoughts, he was the collective conscience and lust in the world. Nothing would stand in Ero’s way, in his quest for sexual dominance. And he would most certainly not risk the interference of Cpt. Rachet, who Ero discovered was still alive.
Cpt.Ratchet, in this respect, was oblivious to the wills of whatever ruled the heavens. Rather, even if he were to know of their presence, the current him would hate such a grandiose existence, and would have likely ignored such “misfortune”, as he so lovingly labels. In his current state, he solely desired peace.
Cpt. Ratchet aimlessly glanced around, his thoughts idling, he was no longer paying attention to his surroundings. His eyes glazed over in remembrance, this was his daily routine. To lose himself in memories and the past was his life now.
Unfortunately his routine was going to change. Unaware of his current surroundings Rachet didn’t notice the approach of a shrewd looking black haired man, though he wasn’t as much of a problem as the two very stocky and built men following him.
Once they had gotten within a reasonable range, the shrewd man gave a signal and immediately the two strong men latched onto Cpt. Ratchet. They dragged him out of his corner of the store and forcefully tossed him out onto the street.