Hope On The Rocks/Issue 118

This is Issue 118 of Hope On The Rocks, entitled "Like the Good Old Days".

This issue is Axel-centric.

906, Like the Good Old Days
Everyday we find new supplies. Whether it is food, tools, whatever, we don’t care. We save it all. We need it all. And once in a while, somebody need to sort these supplies. And who do they choose for that job? That’s rigth, the guy with no legs. Him and the other old man. Just let the old men do the boring stuff. “A kilo of potatoes.” Geary says, moving a basked with potates from one table to another. We are in one of the containers, this one used for storage. I am keeping track of what we have, but since we have nothing to write on, I need to keep track of this in my head. And my head is full of so many other things, if you know what I mean. “And Texas is collecting more right now.” I say. “So we won’t need potatoes for a few days. “That’s good, because we’re running low on those around the camp.” Geary says, and give me a little smile. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Geary. He’s a nice guy, and I really enjoy spending time with him. It’s rare that I say that. “Alright. We have a varity of herbs here.” Geary says, going through another basket. Kristen is really good at making these baskets. And she’s hot too, but she’s not interested in me. I’ve asked. “Any angelica?” I ask. I remember that we were low on this recently. I have no idea if somebody collected any of this. “No.” Geary says, quickly scanning the basket. He places it on the other table. “I guess I’ll go find some tomorrow.” “Geary, can I tell you something?” I ask. “Something I have never told anyone before?” Geary stops what he is doing, and looks at me. “Of course.” He says. “You’re a great friend.” I simply just say. I’ve never had that many friends. I’ve spend some time with Peter and Landon back in Rogersville, but that’s pretty much it. And most of the people here don’t really consider me a friend. I’m just a part of the group. But I think Geary looks at me the same way I look at him: as a friend. Geary smiles, pats me on the shoulder and say: “Thank you. So are you.” I then nod, smiling, and Geary turns around to continue. “Hey, by the way.” I say after we’ve been sorting fruits for a few minutes. “Didn’t Timmy take a basket with apples earlier?” “I don’t know.” Geary says, looking at me. “We better check.” “I’ll go.” I say, preparing my wheelchair to leave the container. It’s impossible to ride in the sand though. “No, no.” Geary says, heading for the door. “Let me.” I smile and nod. Then turn to the fruit table. “I’ll be right back.” Geary says, leaving the container.

It takes a few minutes before the door to the container opens again. I don’t look, I just continue to pack all these berried into a small basket. “That was quick.” I say, eating a single berry. “What was?” I hear a strange voice saying. It’s defentialy not Geary. Turning around, I see a stranger with a knife. He is looking at my stumps, where my legs once were. “Who are you?” I simply ask, tilting my head mildly. The man looks at me. “Where are your legs?” He asks, his mouth hanging open like he’ve forgotten how to close it. “Well, that’s not a great ice-breaker, now, is it?” I say jokingly, but quickly realize I shouldn’t have done that. “You shouldn’t walk around...” The man says, coming closer. “You shouldn’t walk around without legs.” “Well, I can’t...” I say, raising my hands. I know what he is going to do, and I just want to stop him. I am not ready to die. Or am I? I mean, I have no family waiting for me. The only ones who could be waiting would be Peter and Landon. And... I guess that’s fine by me. It’ll safe me for a lot of trouble. A lot of worries. I take a last look at the man, coming closer with the knife raised. Then, I close my eyes, and begin to silently pray. I then feel the knife touching the side of my head, and then I don’t feel anything anymore.

Deaths

 * Axel Durwin

Credits

 * Axel Durwin
 * Geary Franklin
 * Paul Jameson