Post by Deleted on Sept 17, 2019 9:34:41 GMT -6
The moon hangs low in the sky above the Wolf compound. Basking in its light, is a 1970 Ford thunderbird, as the word ‘then’ flashes across the screen. The cars dark green paint looking damn near black, it mirrors its surroundings perfectly as it’s been buffed to such a shine that one could shave in the dark in its reflection. At the rear of the car, Vincent Black, places one of 3 different duffle bags into the boot of the car, and slams the trunk to a close. Watching him from the front door of their home, Candice VooDoo Black leans against the door frame, her arms crossed and eyes averted. She has seen him leave many times, for many different reasons, but this was different. He had lied to her, to them all. Someone they cared about had vanished and at the center of it all, he had played a very large part, and done so secretly. He had plotted, and planned and removed evidence and never came forward with the truth. It was not the man she loved and married. As much as she hated the idea of him leaving, she hoped that he’d be the one to return.
Stepping up to his wife, Vincent dropped his arms to his side, and looked at her for what would be the last time in a long time. In his mind, he wished to tell her how sorry he was. How badly he felt for keeping a secret. How horrible he felt that it was the girls who discovered it. He of course knew she knew all of this. And saying sorry wasn’t going to make it better. Only one thing was going to do that. And it was time for him to do so. With a kiss and a long embrace, Vincent turned and went to the car. He had waited all night for the kids to go to sleep, so as to make it easier for him to leave. All four had known what was coming, and why he had been so demanding of them spending time with him. As he put his hand on the door handle, he felt her behind him, and turned to greet her.
“Bats.” he said, choosing to remind her via use of her nickname, that despite her hatred for him at this moment, he was still her brother. Sarah Wolf needed no such reminder. As the simple fact that he had not yet been laid out by her doing, was all the proof she required.
“It should be me that goes.” she spoke with a grunt. Her eyes were dry from not blinking, and her lips were tight from the screams she was keeping at bay. Her body language spoke volumes of the actions she wished she was taking, other than just crossing her arms and being useless.
“Nonsense. He’s right. This is my mess.” He leaned against the car and put his hands in his pockets, jigging the keys within them. “Besides, we all know you can get him back here in a heartbeat. Only way he stays is if I’m the one who makes things right.”
“Then make it right, Vin.”
“Bats.” He said, softly, bringing her in for a hug. She was older than he, and she was far more grounded, but he could feel the need for it. She melted into him for a second, allowing herself to love her brother, even when she wanted to strike him with something made of metal. Upon separating, Vincent Black, the PhreeQ mega, looked deeply into the eyes of his older sister, and spoke as quietly as he could, with as much meaning as his voice would allow. “I am not coming back here until I do.”
Watching from the front door, VooDoo and Sarah kept quiet until the taillights vanished, and the engine was no longer audible. Each taking a deep breath, they smiled nervously, and turned to each other.
“...is He driving to Canada?”
“I don’t know how he intends to get to Alaska.”
The two laugh and enter the home behind them, and we slowly fade away into a dark forest. The only light source we can see is a small orange dot, which as we pan toward, is discovered to be a campfire. On one side of said fire, is that of Our Man Nomad. A rabbit skinned and splayed over a fire, the man turns it on the make-shift rotisserie. On the other side of the fire, a large black ‘dog’ sits, also patiently waiting for the rabbit to cook. The word ‘now’ appears in the dead center of the screen.
“I beat people up for money but I don’t beat around the bush. Kyle, the reason we’re dancing again is not a mistake or an oversight. It’s a fucking request. I knew I was destined for something great after the rumble, because like most of us, I believe in myself. But unlike the lot of you, I was actually right.”
“And being right about what's to come, I knew that this bullshit game between us had to come to an end. Because you’re a fucking parasite. One of them fish that latch on to others and feed off them. I am not about to transcend from the mid-card with your opportunistic ass looking to tag along. This shit between us and that poitnless fucking suitcase, ends right here and right now. The games, the switching back and forth, all of it. And if you’re not smart about it, your career might end too.”
“I’m not the kind of man who one plays with, Kyle. I’m the guy one avoids fucking with at all and every cost. Ask Nocturnal, and Shane Sparx, and all the other mother fuckers who are too scared to say my name, let alone try to tarnish it. I am not here to make money, I’m here to make a point. And that point is that I will run through you, and leave nothing but a puddle in my wake. Unless you’re smart enough to know how to handle me. You are not, Kyle. You are only still viable in reference to me because I let you. Because quite honestly, and you’re not gonna like hearing this...But I don’t punch down.”
“There is no fun in that for me, Kyle. You may like reaching beyond your means and seeing what you can get away with, and you’ve gotten some pretty substantial success with that. Your entire career up until him, for another. You never should have made it past Preston. You never should have made it past Joka. But I guess some things can be said about luck. One thing that should be said, is that it’s fleeting. Go ahead and ask anyone and everyone who had their night shortened because I was present. Ask them what it was like to watch me come across that ring with purpose. You have obviously forgotten what it felt like the last time. You’ve been allowed to thrive by the apathy of others, and you’re a goddamn joke to all of us, but as of right now, you’re no longer funny.”
Pulling the rabbit off the flames, Nomad tears some meat off, and throws the rest toward the ‘dog’. Ripping its flesh apart in a savage manner, juices run down the corner of his mouth, and onto the ground at his feet, as the ‘dog’ stares at him, almost shocked at his furiousness.
“Don’t stare at me. Eat.” Nomad says with a chunk of rabbit in his mouth. The ‘dog’ wastes no time, and begins to tear into the rabbit as well. Silently devouring the meal, The bi-ped of the two beats stands up, and wipes his mouth on his arm. Looking to the sky with a peaceful look in his eyes. “You know, when I was a kid, I hated camping. Well, actual camping. Glamping, that’s glamour camping, was more my thing. Go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere that had literally more amenities than most people's homes, take some selfies with a tree and then never go back outside again. The idea of sleeping outside was so...ignorant. You didn’t work hard, or my father didn’t work hard, so I could sleep on the ground. Of course, My father wasn’t my father and my point of view was obscured by the inside of my ass, where my head was mainly located back then. Tell you what though, I appreciate the shit out of it now. I’ve been walled in my whole life. Actual or proverbial walls of all shapes and sizes. My relationships with others, my relationship with myself. My possessions that, like that other papa roach song states, owned me more than I owned them. Out here, There’s nothing but me.”
The ‘dog’ lets out a growl, and our man Nomad laughs. “Sorry. I mean us.” Our man takes a pause, and looks to the sky, reflecting on something internal. “It’s been awhile since it was an actual ‘us.’ Nez..Nez was reporting on me to someone from the jump. Acting like I didn’t hear her from the bathroom was Oscar worthy. You, you won’t do that. You might eat me. Which would suck. But I could at least see that coming. It’s funny to me, that non-trusting sort I am, who always looks at everyone cross, is confused for someone who could be trusting. Kyle Manson, who is just a poor man’s Hunter Valentine...Thought he could pull the wool over this...man’s face. Truth be told, I let him do it because A, I don’t give a shit about lesser titles, and B, who the fuck is he that I should be bothered? But...As these things go, he came out the side of his mouth a little too much and a little too hard...So now. Now I gotta remind him what he seems to have forgotten. Luck doesn’t last forever, I ain’t the last guy he fought, but I just might be the last guy he fights, and that’s not a threat, that’s a fuckin promise.”
The ‘dog’ walks over to Nomad and sits down next to him. Cleaning its face by way of its paws, its slurping noises fill the air in an awkward manner.
“I had a dog when I was a kid. I mean, it wasn’t mine. It was my fathers. It was this terribly ugly dog that I wasn’t allowed to pet because his fur was so expensive to care for. It was like this piece of art that shit outside. I took the dog for a walk one time, and we got caught in the rain. My father told me that we ruined it.That it’s fur would never be the same. So he had it put down. Next day, there was another one. Told me all I ever really needed to know about the man, you know?”
The ‘dog’ doesn’t respond. It simply continues to lick itself. “When i asked my father what the new dog's name was, he told he didn’t have one. I suggested a few and I was then told that the reason why he didn’t have a name is the same reason why the toaster doesn’t have a name. You don’t name objects, you name people.”
The ‘dog’, finally done cleaning itself, laid down at Nomad’s feet, and closed it’s eyes. Laying down as well. Nomad rested his head on his right arm, and put his left on the ‘dogs’ back. Nomad thinks about how hard it was to get this ‘dog’ from Las Vegas to Canada, and now Alaska. But in this moment, it was worth it. We slowly pan away, as both ‘dog’ and man close their eyes and drift off into sleep, as we drift off into the darkness from which we came.
“I’m gonna call you Ace…” The ‘dog’ whimpers and rolls over, getting closer to our man Nomad, and closing its eyes tightly. Nomad smiles, and produces a small laugh, saying low beneath his breath as his loses his battle with consciousness and we lose our battle with the darkness from which we came. “...how the fuck am I getting you to Alaska.”
The scene fades away and we rejoin Our Man Nomad, and his companion ‘dog’. Sitting at an outside table of a small Hamburger stand. Our man Nomad reaches into a bag and begins to remove a hamburger from its wrapper, throwing it into the hungry mouth of the ‘dog’ seated before him. Paying more attention to the burner cell phone he’s currently reading the instructions for, he doesn’t notice the ‘dog’ pawing at the bag, asking for more. As Our man mouths the instructions to himself, somehow hoping it will make sense if he speaks it out loud, the ‘dog’ lets out a mighty bark, which gets the attention of everyone in the area. Nomad quickly unwraps another burger and tosses it to his waiting companion. Picking up the phone, he quickly thumbs the screen before pressing the screen a few times. We hear the barely audible sound of the phone dialing, as Nomad clutches the phone between his head and shoulder, freeing his hands to unwrap and toss two more burgers.
“Hello, I’m trying to charter a flight into Alaska from here in Canada, and I was wondering if you could help me.” Nomad paused to listen to the french canadian woman inquire about his needs, and mostly, ask why he didn’t try a commercial flight. “Well, I have a dog that won’t do well in the storage bay. He is a...unlicensed...comfort animal.” The woman explains to our man that if he got the dog licensed, he could get him on any commercial flight. “I know, unfortunately this is a business trip, and I can’t postponed it. I’m kinda over a barrel here so I’m willing to pay to get there as long as my...comfort companion...can come with.” The woman explains and through the look on our man’s face, she’s offering a lot of help which is no help at all. “How big is he? Bigger than a breadbox. Smaller than me.” The woman does not, for whatever reason, ask how tall he is. She instead gives him a number, and an address, of a man who can help. Putting the phone down, Our man takes out the last remaining burgers and unwraps them. Tossing them to the ‘comfort companion’, He pushed all the trash from the wrappers and burner phone, and stuffed them into the paper bag. The ‘dog’ followed him to the trash, licking
its lips all the while. Nomad looks up from the trash, and finds the stares of all the employees gathered at the window, looking at his ‘companion.’
“He’s a comfort companion.” Nomad says, sure of his lie. “I have..asthma.”
Fading away, we find a view of a rundown trailer from the fade up. The door busts open, and a very short, very fat, and very hair shirtless man stumbles out. He spits on the ground and wipes the snot away from his nose with his wrist. Turning, he finds our man Nomad standing in close proximity, with his ‘dog’ at his side. Startled, but not scared, he furrows his brow and barks at his unwelcome visitors with a gruff voice that speaks of a lifetime of cigarettes smoked and gravel gargled.
“Who the fuck is you?” The man says, bits of something or another launching from his mouth.
Our man Nomad does his best to conceal the disgust he has from the very sight of the guy, and isn’t doing the best job at it. “I’m your next customer.”
“...I ain’t working...Wait, where’re ya going?”
“Alaska.”
“ALAS-??...get the fuck outta here.”
“Listen. I need to get to and from Alaska, I need this dog with me, and I’m willing to pay. He’s my comfort companion.” Nomad took a pause and smiled. “I have asthma . “
“Look pal, I don’t know who sent you here, but no dice. Do yourself a favor, go get yourself a ticket on jet blue.”
“I can’t. They won’t let me support animal sit with me unless he's licensed. And it takes too long to make that happen.”
“Support animal?” Looking at the Dire Wolf sized animal, the man looks back at Nomad as if to question the very idea of being out in the open with the beast, let alone in a confined space.
“Yeah. Like I said. I got asthma.”
“Listen. I ain’t no pilot, that’s barely a plane, and that ain’t no dog. I was you, I’d take my a-”
“Stop. Listen to me carefully.” Nomad gets closer to the man, an begins to speak slowly and carefully. “You are a pilot. That is a plane. This is a dog. And this…” he says, pulling thick envelope from his pocket, “...is a very large sum of money that proves all of it.”
“Asthma, huh. You should’ve said anxiety. I’d have believed anxiety.”
“And you should’ve asked for more money.”
We flash away to the interior of a very old, very dirty and dingey plane. As the sky passes outside the window behind him, Our man Nomad looks down at the notebook on his lap, as he does his best to write in a legible manner, while the plane works against his endeavor.
“Dear Z.
I wish I could tell you all the things I know. The depth of my knowledge, despite the distance between us, is ever growing. I know how angry you must be that it wasn’t you who was sent. I know you wish no one needed sending at all. I also know that was it you who was dispatched to return me, it would not have forced my return, but prolonged your distance.
You’ve always taken to understanding me far more than any other. You knew me before the others even tried. I can only assume that you have had no part in this childish endeavor of keeping tabs on that which craves the opposite. I tell myself you’d never be so frail.
If I am wrong, i will be wrong in silent. I will be well in my silence and it would do me no harm to endure. Because you have endured much for me, and that is the least I could do for you. I hope to see you again someday. It shall not be where you wish.
This river loves you.”
The plane shakes violently, and our man Nomad looks to the pilot, who is shrugging and chuckling to himself. The ‘dog’ looks to his man, and makes a grunt. In silent agreement with only a look, they agree that if they should crash, they would eat him immediately. Even if they crashed by a 7-11.
“I can’t land this bitch at an airfield. So I’m gonna have to drop you off in the where’s.”
“...let me guess.” Nomad said, his patience for the terrible joke he was about to play a part in at a minimum. “Somewhere or nowhere?”
“You’ve flown with me before?”
The plane descends from the sky quickly, producing noises of all sorts, none of them comforting. As Nomad looks to the outside area via his deftly secured via duct tape window, he watches the ground rushing to meet him, hoping to live long enough to regret this decision. He has taken chances before, and while they have paid off, in this moment, he is unsure. The ground is hard, and unforgiving, and is getting closer by the second. It will not kind, nor understanding, or merciful. It will crush him, and think nothing of him. All because he took a risk and put himself in a situation he had no need to be in. And in that moment, As the darkness creeps in from all sides to return us to where we came, for the first time and hopefully the last time, Our Man Nomad knows exactly what it’s like to be Kyle Manson.
Stepping up to his wife, Vincent dropped his arms to his side, and looked at her for what would be the last time in a long time. In his mind, he wished to tell her how sorry he was. How badly he felt for keeping a secret. How horrible he felt that it was the girls who discovered it. He of course knew she knew all of this. And saying sorry wasn’t going to make it better. Only one thing was going to do that. And it was time for him to do so. With a kiss and a long embrace, Vincent turned and went to the car. He had waited all night for the kids to go to sleep, so as to make it easier for him to leave. All four had known what was coming, and why he had been so demanding of them spending time with him. As he put his hand on the door handle, he felt her behind him, and turned to greet her.
“Bats.” he said, choosing to remind her via use of her nickname, that despite her hatred for him at this moment, he was still her brother. Sarah Wolf needed no such reminder. As the simple fact that he had not yet been laid out by her doing, was all the proof she required.
“It should be me that goes.” she spoke with a grunt. Her eyes were dry from not blinking, and her lips were tight from the screams she was keeping at bay. Her body language spoke volumes of the actions she wished she was taking, other than just crossing her arms and being useless.
“Nonsense. He’s right. This is my mess.” He leaned against the car and put his hands in his pockets, jigging the keys within them. “Besides, we all know you can get him back here in a heartbeat. Only way he stays is if I’m the one who makes things right.”
“Then make it right, Vin.”
“Bats.” He said, softly, bringing her in for a hug. She was older than he, and she was far more grounded, but he could feel the need for it. She melted into him for a second, allowing herself to love her brother, even when she wanted to strike him with something made of metal. Upon separating, Vincent Black, the PhreeQ mega, looked deeply into the eyes of his older sister, and spoke as quietly as he could, with as much meaning as his voice would allow. “I am not coming back here until I do.”
Watching from the front door, VooDoo and Sarah kept quiet until the taillights vanished, and the engine was no longer audible. Each taking a deep breath, they smiled nervously, and turned to each other.
“...is He driving to Canada?”
“I don’t know how he intends to get to Alaska.”
The two laugh and enter the home behind them, and we slowly fade away into a dark forest. The only light source we can see is a small orange dot, which as we pan toward, is discovered to be a campfire. On one side of said fire, is that of Our Man Nomad. A rabbit skinned and splayed over a fire, the man turns it on the make-shift rotisserie. On the other side of the fire, a large black ‘dog’ sits, also patiently waiting for the rabbit to cook. The word ‘now’ appears in the dead center of the screen.
“I beat people up for money but I don’t beat around the bush. Kyle, the reason we’re dancing again is not a mistake or an oversight. It’s a fucking request. I knew I was destined for something great after the rumble, because like most of us, I believe in myself. But unlike the lot of you, I was actually right.”
“And being right about what's to come, I knew that this bullshit game between us had to come to an end. Because you’re a fucking parasite. One of them fish that latch on to others and feed off them. I am not about to transcend from the mid-card with your opportunistic ass looking to tag along. This shit between us and that poitnless fucking suitcase, ends right here and right now. The games, the switching back and forth, all of it. And if you’re not smart about it, your career might end too.”
“I’m not the kind of man who one plays with, Kyle. I’m the guy one avoids fucking with at all and every cost. Ask Nocturnal, and Shane Sparx, and all the other mother fuckers who are too scared to say my name, let alone try to tarnish it. I am not here to make money, I’m here to make a point. And that point is that I will run through you, and leave nothing but a puddle in my wake. Unless you’re smart enough to know how to handle me. You are not, Kyle. You are only still viable in reference to me because I let you. Because quite honestly, and you’re not gonna like hearing this...But I don’t punch down.”
“There is no fun in that for me, Kyle. You may like reaching beyond your means and seeing what you can get away with, and you’ve gotten some pretty substantial success with that. Your entire career up until him, for another. You never should have made it past Preston. You never should have made it past Joka. But I guess some things can be said about luck. One thing that should be said, is that it’s fleeting. Go ahead and ask anyone and everyone who had their night shortened because I was present. Ask them what it was like to watch me come across that ring with purpose. You have obviously forgotten what it felt like the last time. You’ve been allowed to thrive by the apathy of others, and you’re a goddamn joke to all of us, but as of right now, you’re no longer funny.”
Pulling the rabbit off the flames, Nomad tears some meat off, and throws the rest toward the ‘dog’. Ripping its flesh apart in a savage manner, juices run down the corner of his mouth, and onto the ground at his feet, as the ‘dog’ stares at him, almost shocked at his furiousness.
“Don’t stare at me. Eat.” Nomad says with a chunk of rabbit in his mouth. The ‘dog’ wastes no time, and begins to tear into the rabbit as well. Silently devouring the meal, The bi-ped of the two beats stands up, and wipes his mouth on his arm. Looking to the sky with a peaceful look in his eyes. “You know, when I was a kid, I hated camping. Well, actual camping. Glamping, that’s glamour camping, was more my thing. Go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere that had literally more amenities than most people's homes, take some selfies with a tree and then never go back outside again. The idea of sleeping outside was so...ignorant. You didn’t work hard, or my father didn’t work hard, so I could sleep on the ground. Of course, My father wasn’t my father and my point of view was obscured by the inside of my ass, where my head was mainly located back then. Tell you what though, I appreciate the shit out of it now. I’ve been walled in my whole life. Actual or proverbial walls of all shapes and sizes. My relationships with others, my relationship with myself. My possessions that, like that other papa roach song states, owned me more than I owned them. Out here, There’s nothing but me.”
The ‘dog’ lets out a growl, and our man Nomad laughs. “Sorry. I mean us.” Our man takes a pause, and looks to the sky, reflecting on something internal. “It’s been awhile since it was an actual ‘us.’ Nez..Nez was reporting on me to someone from the jump. Acting like I didn’t hear her from the bathroom was Oscar worthy. You, you won’t do that. You might eat me. Which would suck. But I could at least see that coming. It’s funny to me, that non-trusting sort I am, who always looks at everyone cross, is confused for someone who could be trusting. Kyle Manson, who is just a poor man’s Hunter Valentine...Thought he could pull the wool over this...man’s face. Truth be told, I let him do it because A, I don’t give a shit about lesser titles, and B, who the fuck is he that I should be bothered? But...As these things go, he came out the side of his mouth a little too much and a little too hard...So now. Now I gotta remind him what he seems to have forgotten. Luck doesn’t last forever, I ain’t the last guy he fought, but I just might be the last guy he fights, and that’s not a threat, that’s a fuckin promise.”
The ‘dog’ walks over to Nomad and sits down next to him. Cleaning its face by way of its paws, its slurping noises fill the air in an awkward manner.
“I had a dog when I was a kid. I mean, it wasn’t mine. It was my fathers. It was this terribly ugly dog that I wasn’t allowed to pet because his fur was so expensive to care for. It was like this piece of art that shit outside. I took the dog for a walk one time, and we got caught in the rain. My father told me that we ruined it.That it’s fur would never be the same. So he had it put down. Next day, there was another one. Told me all I ever really needed to know about the man, you know?”
The ‘dog’ doesn’t respond. It simply continues to lick itself. “When i asked my father what the new dog's name was, he told he didn’t have one. I suggested a few and I was then told that the reason why he didn’t have a name is the same reason why the toaster doesn’t have a name. You don’t name objects, you name people.”
The ‘dog’, finally done cleaning itself, laid down at Nomad’s feet, and closed it’s eyes. Laying down as well. Nomad rested his head on his right arm, and put his left on the ‘dogs’ back. Nomad thinks about how hard it was to get this ‘dog’ from Las Vegas to Canada, and now Alaska. But in this moment, it was worth it. We slowly pan away, as both ‘dog’ and man close their eyes and drift off into sleep, as we drift off into the darkness from which we came.
“I’m gonna call you Ace…” The ‘dog’ whimpers and rolls over, getting closer to our man Nomad, and closing its eyes tightly. Nomad smiles, and produces a small laugh, saying low beneath his breath as his loses his battle with consciousness and we lose our battle with the darkness from which we came. “...how the fuck am I getting you to Alaska.”
The scene fades away and we rejoin Our Man Nomad, and his companion ‘dog’. Sitting at an outside table of a small Hamburger stand. Our man Nomad reaches into a bag and begins to remove a hamburger from its wrapper, throwing it into the hungry mouth of the ‘dog’ seated before him. Paying more attention to the burner cell phone he’s currently reading the instructions for, he doesn’t notice the ‘dog’ pawing at the bag, asking for more. As Our man mouths the instructions to himself, somehow hoping it will make sense if he speaks it out loud, the ‘dog’ lets out a mighty bark, which gets the attention of everyone in the area. Nomad quickly unwraps another burger and tosses it to his waiting companion. Picking up the phone, he quickly thumbs the screen before pressing the screen a few times. We hear the barely audible sound of the phone dialing, as Nomad clutches the phone between his head and shoulder, freeing his hands to unwrap and toss two more burgers.
“Hello, I’m trying to charter a flight into Alaska from here in Canada, and I was wondering if you could help me.” Nomad paused to listen to the french canadian woman inquire about his needs, and mostly, ask why he didn’t try a commercial flight. “Well, I have a dog that won’t do well in the storage bay. He is a...unlicensed...comfort animal.” The woman explains to our man that if he got the dog licensed, he could get him on any commercial flight. “I know, unfortunately this is a business trip, and I can’t postponed it. I’m kinda over a barrel here so I’m willing to pay to get there as long as my...comfort companion...can come with.” The woman explains and through the look on our man’s face, she’s offering a lot of help which is no help at all. “How big is he? Bigger than a breadbox. Smaller than me.” The woman does not, for whatever reason, ask how tall he is. She instead gives him a number, and an address, of a man who can help. Putting the phone down, Our man takes out the last remaining burgers and unwraps them. Tossing them to the ‘comfort companion’, He pushed all the trash from the wrappers and burner phone, and stuffed them into the paper bag. The ‘dog’ followed him to the trash, licking
its lips all the while. Nomad looks up from the trash, and finds the stares of all the employees gathered at the window, looking at his ‘companion.’
“He’s a comfort companion.” Nomad says, sure of his lie. “I have..asthma.”
Fading away, we find a view of a rundown trailer from the fade up. The door busts open, and a very short, very fat, and very hair shirtless man stumbles out. He spits on the ground and wipes the snot away from his nose with his wrist. Turning, he finds our man Nomad standing in close proximity, with his ‘dog’ at his side. Startled, but not scared, he furrows his brow and barks at his unwelcome visitors with a gruff voice that speaks of a lifetime of cigarettes smoked and gravel gargled.
“Who the fuck is you?” The man says, bits of something or another launching from his mouth.
Our man Nomad does his best to conceal the disgust he has from the very sight of the guy, and isn’t doing the best job at it. “I’m your next customer.”
“...I ain’t working...Wait, where’re ya going?”
“Alaska.”
“ALAS-??...get the fuck outta here.”
“Listen. I need to get to and from Alaska, I need this dog with me, and I’m willing to pay. He’s my comfort companion.” Nomad took a pause and smiled. “I have asthma . “
“Look pal, I don’t know who sent you here, but no dice. Do yourself a favor, go get yourself a ticket on jet blue.”
“I can’t. They won’t let me support animal sit with me unless he's licensed. And it takes too long to make that happen.”
“Support animal?” Looking at the Dire Wolf sized animal, the man looks back at Nomad as if to question the very idea of being out in the open with the beast, let alone in a confined space.
“Yeah. Like I said. I got asthma.”
“Listen. I ain’t no pilot, that’s barely a plane, and that ain’t no dog. I was you, I’d take my a-”
“Stop. Listen to me carefully.” Nomad gets closer to the man, an begins to speak slowly and carefully. “You are a pilot. That is a plane. This is a dog. And this…” he says, pulling thick envelope from his pocket, “...is a very large sum of money that proves all of it.”
“Asthma, huh. You should’ve said anxiety. I’d have believed anxiety.”
“And you should’ve asked for more money.”
We flash away to the interior of a very old, very dirty and dingey plane. As the sky passes outside the window behind him, Our man Nomad looks down at the notebook on his lap, as he does his best to write in a legible manner, while the plane works against his endeavor.
“Dear Z.
I wish I could tell you all the things I know. The depth of my knowledge, despite the distance between us, is ever growing. I know how angry you must be that it wasn’t you who was sent. I know you wish no one needed sending at all. I also know that was it you who was dispatched to return me, it would not have forced my return, but prolonged your distance.
You’ve always taken to understanding me far more than any other. You knew me before the others even tried. I can only assume that you have had no part in this childish endeavor of keeping tabs on that which craves the opposite. I tell myself you’d never be so frail.
If I am wrong, i will be wrong in silent. I will be well in my silence and it would do me no harm to endure. Because you have endured much for me, and that is the least I could do for you. I hope to see you again someday. It shall not be where you wish.
This river loves you.”
The plane shakes violently, and our man Nomad looks to the pilot, who is shrugging and chuckling to himself. The ‘dog’ looks to his man, and makes a grunt. In silent agreement with only a look, they agree that if they should crash, they would eat him immediately. Even if they crashed by a 7-11.
“I can’t land this bitch at an airfield. So I’m gonna have to drop you off in the where’s.”
“...let me guess.” Nomad said, his patience for the terrible joke he was about to play a part in at a minimum. “Somewhere or nowhere?”
“You’ve flown with me before?”
The plane descends from the sky quickly, producing noises of all sorts, none of them comforting. As Nomad looks to the outside area via his deftly secured via duct tape window, he watches the ground rushing to meet him, hoping to live long enough to regret this decision. He has taken chances before, and while they have paid off, in this moment, he is unsure. The ground is hard, and unforgiving, and is getting closer by the second. It will not kind, nor understanding, or merciful. It will crush him, and think nothing of him. All because he took a risk and put himself in a situation he had no need to be in. And in that moment, As the darkness creeps in from all sides to return us to where we came, for the first time and hopefully the last time, Our Man Nomad knows exactly what it’s like to be Kyle Manson.