Part 1

Mark awoke to a disorienting buzzing in his ears rivaling a chorus of elderly nuns.

With a groan, he lifted his head, only to be greeted by the sudden need to scratch his face.

An urge that he barely held back as he blinked. his bleary gaze taking on the blue shimmering surface he found himself resting on.

“Damn! I was lucky at not snapping my neck after crashing head first into the ship’s shield!”

As if the universe was responding to his complaints, the energy barrier blinked, unleashing a blinding display of bright colors.

Mark could only groan, his eyes protesting in pain, until the shield flickered out.

“Really? Did it just die like that?”

Holding back a sigh, He directed his gaze downward, his lips twitching involuntarily into a helpless smile as he pulled the straps that were supposed to protect his life.

“Ah yes, the state-of-the-art harness technology.”

Mark scoffed with a theatrical roll of his eyes.

“Only the best ship in the galaxy for our employees, they said!”

His voice filled the air with sarcasm as he waved his arms out dramatically as he glared at this world’s sun and complained.

“Fuck!”

Gazing back at the starship, he could only lament for the old Olivander whose body was barely visible under the wreckage it was buried in.

There, amid warped metal, a crooked leg stuck out while a pool of blood slowly spread on the sand.

The shock of such a scene was so great, that Mark felt his legs give out. This caused him to stumble and fall into the sand head first.

His breathing became heavy, his hands trembled as he spit out the sand threatening to choke him.

Slowly, he fought to get air back into his lungs.

Raising his body into a kneeling position with his shaking arms, he was finally able to breath with ease.

“Damn, I was actually lucky to have survived!”

It was then that Mark couldn’t deal with the situation anymore.

Mark's mind became a swirling vortex of memories, each one a bizarre piece of a puzzle that didn't seem to fit together.

The memory of the old man laughing as he tried to drag him into his suicidal attempt mixed in with the unforgettable memory of his giant Iguana pet eating the neighboor’s grandma.

The collision of these memories made Mark feel like something inside him snapped as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

The mismatched scene continued, this time the images were of that moment he found his best friend sleeping with the school’s janitor.

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Then, it morphed into that of his fist raining down as he beat brutally that janitor, blood and teeth flying splattering his face.

And with a jolt, the scene was drawn back to this morning when a group of government’s personnel kicked him out of his house, making him homeless.

“That’s right! I’m quite lucky. JAJAJAJA!”

Mark bellowed out as he hid his face between his fingers, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth watering not from despair but from the sight before him.

There, half-buried in the sand laid an open box brimming with glimmering metal, like a treasure trove from the heart of a star.

The old pilot’s treasure

“After all, I have this with me.”

It was quite a find.

This stash of metal was enough to feed him for years.

Mark's laughter swelled like an interstellar whale, drowning out the woes that had once clouded his path.

“Forget about my shitty life!”

Part 2

“That’s a deal then.”

Mark smiled, satisfied with the exchange he successfully negotiated with the peculiar rotund scavengers.

In the end, haggling with these odd beings felt as natural as navigating the constellations.

“A pleasure, now get lost.”

The round green scavengers cared little about Mark's condition, satisfied with their deal.

“A pleasure.”

As he watched the scavengers amble away, their round forms bouncing like rubber balls, Mark's laughter joined the windswept expanse.

Mark gave them a nonchalant wave, his focus centered on the biker he had bought rather than their ongoing activities.

His figure indifferent as he mounted the elongated tube-like hovering vehicle, his hands confidently gripping the handles like a cowboy about to embark on a rodeo.

It had not been hard to find scavengers, they came by themselves to investigate the wreckage, the hard part was to bargain with them.

Mark had haggled his way to a beat-up biker, a local vehicle that had seen better days. Alongside it, he'd also secured 50 yellow credits, the local currency.

He could have walked away with more, but he was unwilling to clean the old pilot's remains with his own hands.

So there he was, with a fortune hidden in his clothes, a bag of supplies slung over his shoulder, a little gift from his old job as a delivery-man, and a vehicle.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get going!”

Mark exclaimed, giving the biker an affectionate pat as if it were a cherished companion.

His finger danced over the start button, triggering a sequence that brought the ancient motor to life.

A chorus of spluttering coughs filled the desert air, and the back thruster ignited with an orange glow.

With a grin, Mark twisted the accelerator on the handles, the biker lunging forward with a jolt that had Mark's stomach doing somersaults.

“Yuhu!”

As he zoomed into the desert expanse, following the scavengers' directions like an obedient student, Mark couldn't help but let out a whoop of exhilaration.

“Uahg! I forgot to close my mouth.”

Feeling the taste of bitter sand, Mark scrambled, searching through the nooks and crannies of his clothes, his left hand desperately searching for his old goggles.

His fingers finally closed around the familiar frames and slipped them on like he had done countless times.

The googles were small and purple, barely big enough to cover his eyes. A grinning mammoth cartoon character was plastered across them

‘To be honest, I used to be ashamed of them. But after surviving insanity, who cares.’

Regardless of his thoughts, the truth was that from the point of view of the scavengers, he looked like another stupid foreigner.

Oblivious to this, Mark continued riding his biker with a speed almost laughable.

It was the sort of velocity that could be compared to that of a human in a spirited jog, rather than a fast speed vehicle.

Fortunately for Mark, the only living beings around to watch him were the scarce plants resembling open, spiked hands.

His unusual journey was just beginning.