6 minute read
Can’t Make It Back Again” Alli Wood
Can’t Make It Back Again
BY: ALLI WOOD
On a planet known only for its misfortune there lived a boy everyone called Rose. Rose was half Toge and half human. Fujin was the planet ’s name. It was named after the Japanese Kami of winds, Fujin, because in its most prosperous days people glided in ships across the skies for a chance at luck. Toge are humanoids best known for their two horns that poked from their head, and you know what humans are. Rose operated a machine known as the Roku-Kama, Kama for short. They were insect-like machines that harvested the rock for resources which had become less than abundant in recent memory. His company had not given thought to replace the same twenty year old models that his mother and father once piloted. To him and his colleagues, today was the same as every other day, the same day he had been forced to repeat for seven years. He boarded an elevator, a ratchety old machine that screamed and quaked for hours on end. He wore a hat above his horns, resting on a mess of fuzzy black hair that curled around pointed stone grey ears. The doors had been so heavily beaten and rusted that opening it was considered a job with a paycheck. As it took him deep below ground, the same doubts danced around his mind. He countered them with success, but each time they reincarnated with a greater fighting spirit.
As a child, even today as a semi-sturdy nineteen-year-old, the mines were the same as the oceans. He could never see the bottom, and if he could, he would lose all his breath and be forgotten. This was not to gloss over the hundreds of strange monsters which lurk in those hidden depths. He swore he felt an odd skin-crawling sensation at the thought of what could potentially meet him there at the bottom.
The elevator came to a stop after an hour, followed by many other elevators from other sections. He took a hold of his supplies, some issued by the company, others he was recommended. Every worker spilled out and made way for their place of work with only the thought of money holding them there. Each Kama was lined up, side by side with no distinguishing factors besides a few missing parts and a splotch of dirt. The only way to tell which Kama apart was by looking at a small number on its hind legs. He found his: number oneeight-seventeen. It took ten minutes at most for everyone to board their Kama, so Rose gave his a quick check-up. A friend of his had educated Rose on modifications, as his mother had done for the friend. “Don’t screw anything up this time, Rose-Chan!” shouted another pilot mockingly. Rose acted like he ignored the comment, but clearly consumed it. “Did you hear me?!” cawed the pilot. “Y-yeah…” said Rose, trying to open his Kama’s door. “Do that, and nobody’ll die this time!” He forced up a chuckle, “I’ll try,” He was quick to shut the door. It was unique inside; modifications had to be made to ensure decent efficiency and accommodate the style of the pilot. The interior of his Kama was politely referred to as “rustic”, as it ’s evident decay alluded to southern attributes. The cushioning of the front seat had a large rip down its middle as if it were begging to no longer be sat on, and when Rose adjusted its positioning to his preferences, it let out an obnoxious moan like an elderly man living his last years. A little plush character of a small anthropomorphic cat dangled above, he felt it lit up the palate and supplied more than the usual. The Kama were carefully lifted by a large grouping of cable wires into the darkened depths. A voice played over, reminding pilots to buckle themselves in and make certain adjustments. He spread his fingers over the interface and flicked over several switches accordingly. The moment the descent concluded and released his vehicle he began working his way through a stolid wall of rock. Steam poured from a vent in the back as the machine moved its sturdy, stubby legs through. The exterior of a Kama is tough enough so that no matter how many scratches it obtained, it would be impossible to break. On the outside was where all the action was, with scythe-like blades penetrating through, repeatedly bashing, slashing, chipping away at the once solid mass. But one has to question how much one could endure on the inside, insulated from the chaos so near.
Any pilot would tell you jokingly, “It took more to live through the boredom than being crushed by thousands of rocks!” There was some truth to that statement. The sector of land in which Rose struck at was only a few kilometers from his apartment in Mawari City, the city that revolves around the mines. It was never a place of solace, and despite a warm-looking fireplace, he could never start a fire. His father was there now, lounging on the couch, making up for the lack of a kotatsu with a superfluous number of blankets as he hazily watched the baseball game. It wasn’t a matter of “will they win or will they not?” —for the failure of the team was predetermined—it was a matter of if they were willing to hold up against the odds. Though the wrong bet was always made, it seemed unjust for him to give up anyway. Just when Rose began to slack off on his work, the Kama struck hard and the entire wall collapsed into a great system of caves. Unaware of his discovery, he was too late to pull the machine back, and it fell for an eternity. … He could feel a calling, a light. He could feel his mother, ancestors he had never known. He hadn’t died yet. Opening his eyes, he was struck by a brilliant ball of scintillating white light. He screamed agonizingly. The light quickly dimmed. <am I dead?! What sort of place is this?!> His eyes scattered about the room, until they caught a reflective surface which glistened from the light. It was the carcass of his Kama, damaged beyond repair. He cuffed his hands to his mouth, “No no no no no no…” But then his worry came off the mind like an eraser was taken to them. What was causing the light in these depths? He had never known such a presence in all his life as the one that emanated from this light source. His injuries, his misfortune, likelihood of death, of being forgotten; everything was nothing for a moment. He reached for it without knowing he was taking action. One moment heaped up on top of the other as time seemed to slow. There was something he needed, and at this moment it could only be quenched by the source. He was crying, laughing all over, shaking, frowning. The tip of his fingernail came to this object, and soon enough his hand. For only a second he could recount his life from birth to present.
