The Carnival
Jeremy W. Kerr
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2008 Jeremy W. Kerr
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thanks for respecting the hard work of this author. He thanks you and his bill collectors thank you.
It was three hours until dawn and as one moon sat below the horizon, the second, larger moon climbed into the sky. Anyone who was up would have seen the carnival hover-trucks make their quiet way down Main Street, take a left at the last intersection in town, and head down the dirt road to what used to be the Shomette’s farm. However, no one in town was awake at that hour save for Alethia Tims, and she was in no condition to be up and about, looking out the window. Instead, Alethia was lying on her cot in the small living room, staring at the ceiling. She clutched an old, yellowed handkerchief to her mouth to stifle the sound of her coughing. She didn’t want to wake her son or her husband, knowing they had a long day of work ahead of them. Had Alethia been in better health, she may have been standing at the window to watch the carnival slowly slide by, the rides broken down and unrecognizable, the animals sleeping in their cages, the freaks sleeping in theirs. Though if Alethia had been in better health, she would probably be asleep in her own bed beside her husband, not lying on a cot praying to a god whose only begotten son had been sent to another planet in another planetary system.
Most of the freaks and animals followed the lead of the townspeople and were asleep as the hover-trucks kicked up small clouds of dust, heading towards the former Shomette homestead. One large eye blinked out into the night, however. The creature scanned the sky, searching the stars for any recognizable constellation, something that would show him the location of his home planet. Outis couldn’t see any shapes in the stars that he knew, though. Perhaps they had traveled too far in the system. Perhaps they had left the system entirely, he didn’t know. He stretched his back and groaned. His trailer was five feet high, which would have been plenty for the other freaks in the carnival, but Outis stood seven feet tall and found his lodgings cramped. His dark eye turned again towards the window. From the light of the moon he could see the large field where they were no doubt going to be setting up camp. He knew the routine: even though he served as two freaks in one, he would also be expected to help with the set up of the Big Top. There was only one animal in the carnival stronger than Outis, a huge beast with a long trunk and giant, flapping ears. Her name was Crampon and between the two of them, they would have the tent up faster than twenty men could.
The sun had been up almost two hours before most of the townspeople dragged themselves from their beds. With fifteen hours of daylight, there wasn’t much of a need to get an early start on the day, not even for the farmers. Isambard staggered into the living room, still rubbing his eyes. He smiled at his mother as he sat on the floor next to her.
“How’d ya sleep?”
She smiled a thin, weak smile. “Not at all.”
“I’m sorry, Mamma.”
“Don’t worry about me. The Lord knows each sparrow that falls from the sky. I’ll be fine.”
Isambard didn’t know how much he shared his mother’s belief that she would be fine. There were days when he doubted it completely, and was ashamed for being so certain his mother would die. Other days, though, he knelt beside his mother and prayed, knowing that her God would provide, that He would heal the sick and the lame as He had done all those thousands of years before.
“What do you want for breakfast?” he asked, rising and going to the kitchen.
“Not today.”
“Mom, you have to eat. The doctor said—”
“Not today, Izzie. Maybe I’ll be able to get down some dinner.”
As Isambard made himself something to eat, he heard Dominic moving about somewhere in the house. He knew Dom wasn’t his father and because of his mother’s religious views, he guessed Alethia and Dom had gotten married, but when and under what circumstances he didn’t know. His was a quiet family with few questions asked.
That day, Dominic and Isambard worked one of the family’s three small fields. They only owned one mule, and traded off the job of plowing the earth and taking the rocks from the field. During the hottest part of the day, they took an hour break under a tree on the edge of their land. After eating lunch, the two of them sat dozing, neither fully awake nor completely asleep.
Finally, Isambard breeched the subject that had been on his mind for days.
“Ya know, the carnival starts tonight.”
“I know,” the Dominic said without opening his eyes.
“The last time it was in Greenville was two years before I was born.”
Dominic simply nodded.
“Do you…do you think I’ll get to go?”
The man swatted at a fly buzzing in front of his face. “I don’t see the point,” he answered.
You don’t see the point of a fifteen-year-old boy going to the carnival? he wanted to ask, but knew it would get him cuffed on the back of the head.
“I mean, who knows when it will be in town again?”
“We’ll see.”
“Please, Dom?”
“It’s not up to me. You know that.”
When the two of them arrived back at home, they were greeted by the usual sight of Rev. Eugene’s car parked in front of their house. Like many of the cars in Greenville, the Reverend’s vehicle no longer ran, but was pulled by a team of two work horses. Isambard stroked the nose of the horse nearest him as they walked by.
Rev. Eugene had become more of fixture at their house than Dr. Trimmer. It was the preacher’s belief, and had quickly become the belief held by Alethia, that medical intervention was not in God’s plan. The Reverend taught both from the pulpit and in the home that prayer was the only “true” medicine and that faith alone was the only tool needed to become well again.
“Those with faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains,” he would yell on Sunday mornings, “so we can easily move tiny ol’ tumors!” He would smack the podium as the congregation answered with a unanimous, “Amen!”
Alethia Tims was no longer well enough to attend church, so the Reverend brought his sermons to her on an almost daily basis. Her recovery was of utmost importance to him, as it would be a sign of God’s power and the power of prayer that he preached each week. The fact that Alethia seemed to only be getting worse for the last three months didn’t seemed to phase the preacher.
“Good evening, Reverend Eugene. Hey, ma. Are you feeling better tonight?”
“Your ma’s had a full day of prayer and worship, Isambard. There is no better way to feel, blessid be the Lord” the preacher answered. He sat in their only chair, a cup of coffee in one hand and four shortbread cookies in the other, with crumbs on his shirt. Rev. Eugene had long ago made himself at home when he visited, fixing beverages and often going through the cabinets for something to eat. When Isambard once asked Dominic why he didn’t mind what he saw as pilfering, the man had answered, “It’s cheaper than giving tithe, isn’t it?” In truth, Isambard thought the preacher ate more than ten percent of the family’s earnings each week, but hadn’t bothered to say so. The Reverend’s visits made Alethia happy, and that was all that mattered.
“Ma, the carnival starts today.”
Rev. Eugene shook his head sadly. “The carnival is a traveling den of thieves. A hovering whorehouse. There’s naught but debauchery and sin settling down on the ol’ Shomette place.”
“There’s nothing wrong with some rides and games.”
“Games?” the preacher scoffed, cramming a cookie into his mouth. “You mean ‘gamblin.’”
Alethia nodded at this. “Izzie, I’m afraid Rev. Eugene and I are of one mind in this. I don’t want you going.”
“Mamma, please.”
“No, and that’s final.”
“It ain’t fair. Dom said I could go—”
“Now just a minute, Isambard,” Dominic said from the kitchen. “I said it would be up to your ma’.”
“So now you’re both turning on me? What the hell?”
Heads and eyes snapped his way, and he slapped his hand over his mouth.
Then the coughing began. There were times, earlier, much earlier, when Alethia had gone three or four days between the coughing fits. Now, if she was lucky, she’d have an hour’s rest before they started up again. Isambard knew she would have had the attacks all day while he and Dom were out, but he still couldn’t help feeling like his arguing, his anger, his cussing had brought on this one. Her body shook, her thin legs lifting off the cot with some of the coughs. Dominic was immediately by her side, holding her hand. Reverend Eugene set his coffee down and raised his empty hand, beginning a prayer.
“Looooooord, HEAL this woman,” he commanded, crumbs falling from his lips and rolling down his large front.
“Should I get Dr. Trimmer?”
The preacher shot Isambard a look of disgust.
“A doctor may help bring a person into this world, son, but he cain’t keep one innit. That’s God’s job, and God’s alone. Now pray for your momma, son. And ask forgiveness for the filth coming out of your mouth, while you’re at it.”
Outis sat in his tent looking at his hands. He could hear his barker outside, even though there would only be a few people trickling around the carnival while it was still daylight. These were usually the jobless, who had nowhere else to be anyway, or the somewhat religious, who believed carnivals were okay, but that nothing good happened after dark.
“Come see the Amazing Colossus! A Freak of Nature that defies explanation! Is he Man? Is he Beast? Is he Both? Decide for yourself, ladies and gentlemen! Those of you who are strong of heart, feast your eyes on the loathsome one-eyed monster: a Cyclops of unimaginable size and untellable strength!”
Two thick chains were attached to either side of the small stage in Outis’ tent. In the middle of them, center stage, was an iron collar. An average sized man could have worn this collar as a belt, but it wasn’t made for Man. It was made for the horrifying colossus. Outis picked the collar up and fitted it around his neck. He locked it and put the key in his own pocket. The collar served two purposes in his show. First, it made the carnival-goers feel safer, more secure. But it also heightened their fear and excitement. Sure, here’s a beast who lifts weights and bends bars while he’s shackled, but what if he were to escape? Surely he would go wild with freedom and ravage the people standing shoulder to shoulder in the tent! There would be no escape for them, would there? Without those chains, obviously the colossal Cyclops would tear the men and women to pieces. At least, this was how Dr. Imagitron of Dr. Imagitron’s Carnival of Wonders had explained it to him.
“Think about it,” the ringleader had said years ago, “awe is one thing. They’re in awe of your raw, unimaginable strength. But awe and fear? The mind will barely be able to contain it all. Twice the emotion!”
“Two freaks in one,” Outis smirked.
“Two freaks in one!”
“Twice the entry fee, huh?”
The doctor, who held no degree past five years of schooling and whose real last name was probably something like Smith or Jones, grinned, showing all his teeth.
“Now you’re catching on, Outis.”
“Does that mean I get twice the pay?”
The smile dropped off the good doctor’s face in a flash.
“We’ll see.”
That had been almost nine years ago, and there had been no pay raise. There was barely any pay to begin with, and Outis was grateful for what he received. So grateful, in fact, that he never brought it up again.
He was glad to have a place to sleep, though uncomfortable, and a roof over his head, though leaky in the rainy seasons. He was glad, too, to be fed two times a day. Most days, that is. Other days they would forget to bring him anything to eat at all. He knew better than to ask, because asking just made people angry. Ever since Outis had been bought by Dr. Imagitron and placed into work, he had learned that his place in life was a quiet corner. Speak when spoken to, keep your eye to the ground. Legally he was property of the doctor and there was no obligation to pay him at all. He received a small amount of money each week, though, so he could buy his own toiletries and such. What seemed like a nice token on the surface actually made him more reliant on the carnival. He only got paid enough to spend, never enough to save. The doctor and Outis were both fully aware that if the Cyclops were to try to ever leave, he’d have no money to take with him, and the only thing worse than a monster on the loose is a broke, hungry monster on the loose.
An hour before midnight, Outis was already performing in his sixth show of the day. Across town, a room away from the coughing Alethia, Isambard sat on his bed, looking out his open window. He waited until his mother hit a bad spell of coughing and his feet were on the ground and the window closed again before she quieted.
“Screw staying in,” he said aloud. He had almost eight credits tucked into the bib pocket of his overalls and he planned on spending them all at the carnival.
Isambard jumped onto the back on the third or fourth wagon to pass him, one pulled by a single horse with a man he knew at the reins.
“Good evening, Mr. Solomon.”
“ ’evening, Bard. How’s your ma?”
“She’s all right. Not doing too much worse, anyway.”
Mr. Solomon nodded with a grunt. At the end of Main Street, he turned the wagon onto the dirt road leading to what used to be the farm owned by the Shomettes. Close to twelve years earlier, a fire had claimed the barn, the house, and the childless couple that slept in their bed. The land wasn’t much to fight over, and since there were no heirs, it had become common land over time. It was grazed off and on but no one bothered to plant any crops out there. Dr. Imagitron, however, found it to be the perfect location for his Carnival of Wonders. A wide, flat piece of land that no one, and this was the important part, would charge a fee for using.
Before Isambard could hear the sounds of music and laughter and happy screaming, he saw the lights. The wagon came around a bend, and suddenly there they were: bright neon outlining a carrousel and other rides, multi-colored incandescent bulbs of game booths, the white glare outlining the grounds, and there, in the middle, towering above all like a giant king, stood the wheel. So much light came from the wheel that at first Isambard was afraid the circular structure was on fire. Then he saw that the light was slowly spinning and remembered a story he had heard at Listo’s Store a few years back. Charlie Stowe was talking about the carnival the last time it had been in Greenville, and he told of a wheel made of steel and chairs and people could ride to the top and see down the dirt road, across town, all the way to the Broad River and beyond. Isambard hadn’t believed such a tale at the time, but now that he saw it for himself, he realized there was probably so much he was missing being stuck in his hometown. It looks like a galaxy fell from the sky and landed outside our town, he thought to himself.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.
“ ’tis,” the old man whispered back. “ ’tis indeed.”
The Circus of Wonders didn’t exactly make a killing financially, and what it did bring in mostly lined the purse of Dr. Imagitron, himself. With each metal bar that Outis bent with his bare hands, he shook his head, knowing he’d have to bend them straight again at the end of the night. “Recycling” was what the ringleader called it. “Money-grubbing” is what Outis would have called it, had that phrase been in his vocabulary. There had been a night three years earlier when the Cyclops had been sick and gone to bed almost immediately after his last show. He woke to his name being screamed, a string a curses, and one of his curved bars coming down repeatedly on his head and torso. Imagitron called him a wasteful pig and emphasized each word with a crash of the metal. After that, Outis had never forgotten to “put away his toys,” as Imagitron termed it, no matter how sick or tired he was.
For the first twenty minutes or so, Isambard simply wandered through the carnival, taking in all the sights and sounds and smells. Strobes flashed, bells and whistles exploded, the smoke of grilled meat wafted through the air. For a boy who had experienced little but farming and the market, Carnival of Wonders threatened to overwhelm the senses. Games such as Fatso the Rat, Knock-em-Dead, Ball ’n Bucket, and Man or Mouse had an almost magnetic pull on the citizens of Greenville, beckoning them to part with cash that had taken them months to save. Rides with the names Centipede, High Roller, and The Fling begged the normally down-to-earth people to go wild and trust their lives to people they didn’t know and nuts and bolts they hadn’t inspected. Isambard was amazed by the constant noise and movement. Every time he stopped, thinking of playing one game, another would grab his attention. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to eat candy or meat or fried potatoes in vinegar. He would choose a ride, only to balk at its height or its speed. Eventually, he did get onto a few rides, including the Horror House which he found more amusing than frightening.
Walking with a bag of cotton candy under one arm and eating a bison dog, Isambard made his way to the freak tents. The Bearded Lady and the Fat Lady were both sights he could see daily at the market if he wanted, so he passed by them. He saw The Illustrated Man, whose tattoos seemed to move on the surface of his skin. He tried his best to get into The Dancing Ladies’ tent, but was denied entry based on his age. Isambard then made his way past the Two-Headed Cow because he had been there when one of Joe Stark’s cattle had given birth to the same thing, only that calf hadn’t lived through the day. He soon found himself standing by a tent which proclaimed, “See the Strongest Man,” but ‘man’ had cleverly been made to look as if someone had spray painted it to read ‘monster.’ The picture on the sign showed an enormous creature with only one eye centered on its face. The monster was bending a train axel in half as it roared. The screaming mouth was a large as a man’s head and the razor-sharp teeth seemed slightly tipped with blood.
Isambard paid the single credit for admission and entered the tent. Twenty or so people crowded together, kicking up sawdust. The other attendees were loudly joking with each other. None of them expected to see a real monster so the mood was relaxed and jovial. Without any notice, however, the lights in the tent went out and the crowd immediately stilled.
“Let me guess, it’s an invisible monster?” a man called out in the silence and there was laughter again. But this time it was a nervous laughter because the dark seemed to last too long.
With the crash of a drum roll, a spotlight flooded the stage and there, before them all, was a grayish-green monster standing over seven feet tall. A single large eye swept across them. The crowd gasped as one and the eye squinted to glare at them in reaction to that sound. Sweat rolled off the giant’s bald head and dropped to the stage floor. His chains rattled with each movement of his head. The creature lifted its upper lip in a snarl and sure enough there were hints of red on the sharp teeth. With a quick movement that startled the crowd and sent them all a step backwards, the monster picked up an iron rod and began his routine.
Throughout the show, men were invited onstage to try their hand at lifting, bending, or crushing objects. They all failed and Outis succeeded, making steel and iron look like wheat stalks or rubber. The finale was the monster performing a clean-and-jerk using an old railroad axle and wheels as his barbell. This was complimented by a loud roar, spit spraying the crowd. The spotlight went out and the crowd exploded with applause. When the lights in the tent came back on, the stage was bare again, monster and weights all gone.
The men and women around Isambard shuffled their way past him talking about how they felt that for once their money hadn’t been wasted on a freak show.
“That thing was huge!” “Did you see those biceps? I could use him on my farm.” “Are you kidding? He’d eat all your livestock.” Laughter, then silence as Isambard found himself alone in the tent, the other spectators gone to the rides and the sounds and the lights of the carnival outside. Slowly, he approached the stage and noticed a slit in the canvas wall at the back. Before he had time to think about what he was doing or why, he was on the stage and through the monster’s exit. He found himself in an extension of more tent, set up to provide the creature a room and only three feet away was the huge, rounded back of the colossus. The boy froze in his tracks, his eyes wide with fear. He had come looking for the beast, but hadn’t expected to find him out of a cage. The thought crossed his mind that at any point, this giant could turn around and attack him, ripping his limbs from his body. Before he could leave, the creature’s head turned slightly.
“Shouldn’t be here.”
Isambard tried to speak and found his throat wouldn’t move. He gave a weak cough and tried again.
“I’m sorry. I…I got lost.”
The head turned more and Isambard caught a glimpse of the large eye, its pupil aimed at him.
“Please…please don’t eat me.”
The beast threw its head back and the tent was filled with a pulsating roar. Isambard felt all the carnival food rising in his stomach. The giant spun around to look at him and when he saw those razor-sharp teeth aimed his way, the boy threw up and was consumed in darkness as he fainted.
Consciousness came before understanding.
“I’m on a bedroll,” he thought to himself. “Not my bed…and this place stinks.”
It wasn’t a horrible smell, but one he associated with livestock and sweat. His eyelids were red with flickering light. He slowly opened them and spotted an oil lamp on a table. A quick glance showed him there wasn’t much else in the small room and that he was alone. He recognized it as the room he had met the beast. He raised himself and was about to get up when he realized he was only wearing his underpants. His overalls were gone.
“How am I gonna escape naked?” he asked aloud.
“No escaping,” came a voice outside the tent called.
The flap pulled back and the Cyclops entered, carrying Isambard’s overalls.
“No escaping because you’re not a prisoner. You can leave when you like.”
He held the overalls out and Isambard cautiously took them and began dressing.
“You threw up. I cleaned best I could. I had to undress you. If I scrubbed them when you wore them, I’d probably crack your ribs.” He showed his teeth again, and Isambard realized it was a smile.
“I’m sorry about throwing up on your floor.” He looked down and saw where more sawdust had been added in a pile. “And I’m sorry about passing out. I guess you scared me when you roared.”
The giant looked puzzled for a moment, scrunching his eyebrow the best he could with only one.
“Oh!” he finally said. “I was laughing. You said, ‘Don’t eat me.’ It made me laugh. Sorry.”
Isambard stood there in the sawdust and flickering light. He couldn’t understand what was happening. The blood-dripping monster who could tear you apart had been laughing and smiling, and now, here he was having a conversation with him after cleaning Isambard’s clothes.
“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.
“Most say, ‘Thanks.’” The giant smiled again, something Isambard knew would take a while to get used to.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Thank you. I don’t know where my manners are.” He reached his hand. “I’m Isambard Tims. From here in Greenville.”
What the boy had thought of as a monster reached out and enveloped Isambard’s hand in his.
“Outis. From Cyclopia.”
“Where’s that?”
Outis raised his eye, as if looking through the tent and at the stars. He stood quiet for a short time, then replied, “Don’t know anymore. I lost it.”
“You don’t know where your planet is anymore?”
“No,” Outis said, shaking his head slowly. “Traveled too much. Can’t find it in the sky.”
“How will you get home when you decide to leave the carnival?”
The Cyclops smiled again, but this time it was sad.
“Won’t ever leave. Don’t have the choice.”
Outis told Isambard how he was little more than a slave of Dr. Imagitron’s. What had started out as a good idea to help bring in money for his family back home had quickly turned into a trap. He explained how he had no money, no friends to help him, and how no strangers would be willing to offer assistance to a runaway monster.
“So I’m stuck,” he said with that same sad smile.
“I’m sorry, Outis. I wish there was something I could do, but I’m just a kid.”
The Cyclops made a noise that Isambard assumed to be chuckling.
“Same here. I’m sixteen.”
“But you’re huge!”
This time, a happy smile spread across the razor-sharp teeth.
“I’ll get bigger.”
After saying goodnight and once again apologizing for throwing up on Outis’ floor, Isambard caught another wagon heading back to town. He had promised to do his best to come see the show one more time while the carnival was still in town. He hopped off the wagon when it turned into the main intersection in town. He was still a block and a half away from his house when he spotted Reverend Eugene’s car in his yard, the team of mules dozing in the cool early morning. The preacher had never been to the house this early and panic gripped Isambard like a fist. He took off at a run, worried about his mother.
When he threw open the front door, his eyes barely caught the sight of a neighbor talking to the preacher. What he noticed was the empty couch.
“Where is she?” he asked no one in particular.
Dominic stood in the bedroom doorway, his back to Isambard.
“Dom! Where’s Mamma?” But it was the preacher who answered.
“She’s with the Lord, son.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Praise be, her suffering has come to an end and she’s standing before the throne of God. Her pain is gone and she’s wearing a white robe in heaven.”
Isambard stood locked in place in a daze. Try as he might, he couldn’t make sense of what Reverend Eugene was saying. His eyes began to brim with tears.
“Dom?”
“She got bad sick a few hours ago,” Dominic answered without turning. “We needed the doctor, but I didn’t want to leave her alone. If you’d been here—”
Isambard rushed past the man and into the bedroom. There, Alethia lay on the bed.
Son stood watching mother being lowered into the shallow hole dug in the hard clay. He did not cry. He had not cried once since seeing his mother dead. Crying would be a release of emotion and he refused to allow himself that privilege. He had no entitlement to releasing emotion. The son stood as stiff as an iron rod and held everything in with one thought: “I killed my mother.” Before Dominic had even started to accuse him, Isambard knew it was his fault. If he hadn’t snuck away to the carnival, he would have been at home when his mother needed him. He was fast, he could easily have run to the doctor’s house before his mother got any worse. Instead, Dominic had stayed by her side, afraid to leave her, with no one to send for help. She had died in Dominic’s arms, but Isambard knew she had died at his hands.
Reverend Eugene finished up the extolment of heaven, God, and all things wonderful and the few people that had come to the funeral shuffled away. Dominic, too, walked away without a word. So far, neither of the two had talked to the other. Isambard knew the blame was on him, there was nothing else to say. The reverend came over to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Son, your mother is pain free now. She’s gone to glory (praise Him!) and is walking streets of gold, through gates of pearl (halleluiah!). She is standing beside God—”
“Screw your god,” the boy said through clenched teeth. “If you say that word to me again, I’ll punish you. If your god was so amazing and powerful, he could have made her pain free here on earth. What does he need with her? Nothing. We needed her and either your god took her away or there is no god, that’s why she couldn’t be saved.”
“Now, now. I understand you are hurting, son. But God can—”
And with that, Isambard turned and swung an uppercut into the reverend’s crotch. The man sucked in air with a slight squeak and then doubled over.
“Screw your god and screw you.”
When Isambard left the funeral, he didn’t follow the path the others had taken back to town. He wanted to be away from people, away from eyes that looked at him with so much anger. He just started walking, feeling sick, feeling himself fill with self-hatred. He just kept walking and after a while he realized he was on the dirt road that headed to the Shomettes’ old farm. When he came around the bend that had so magically revealed another world of sights and sounds the other night, he was surprised to see what looked like a ghost town. Death, he thought. Death comes to the carnival during the day. He was walking away from one death, heading towards another.
Soon, he found himself wandering through the almost deserted carnival. The only people that moved around him were the workers, some drinking coffee as if they had just arisen, some checking the machinery of the rides they operated. His feet somehow led him to the tent of the Cyclops.
There was no door to knock on, so at the flap he just yelled, “Hey!”
“Come on,” was the answer.
He lifted the flap and entered, the darkness swallowing him. There was a small battery powered lamp turned on, but it did little to light the room. The giant was sitting on the floor, checking his metal bars for cracks.
“You? Welcome back. Didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Well…yeah. I don’t know.”
“Especially during the day.”
“I don’t know, I just thought I’d come out here to see you.”
Isambard was offered the chair, but he shook his head.
“Why do you stay, Outis?”
The smile melted away from the giant’s face and he turned his eye to the floor.
“I told you. This is my life.”
“Do you like it?”
Outis was quiet for a while as he looked around the small room, all that was his life.
“No,” he finally answered. “I hate it.”
“Change it.”
“How?”
“Change it with me. I’m leaving Greenville and maybe the planet, I don’t know.”
“Don’t play with me, Isambard. Don’t get my hopes up. I have no money and I don’t think you have enough for two runaways.”
“No, but my mother did. She had three hundred credits stored away. Dominic didn’t even know about them. She’d been saving most of my life.”
The giant stood with a groan and turned his back to the boy.
“Please leave.”
“I will, but only with you. You and I are saying goodbye to all the hatred and anger and sadness around us.”
When Outis turned his head around, he was greeted with the sight of three hundred credits in Isambard’s hands.
“This is enough for now. We both know how to do work, we’ll be fine.”
If anyone had cared, they might have noticed two silhouettes rounding the bend in the dirt road. One silhouette towering above the other, twice as wide. But no one cared and no one noticed. The silhouettes faded into the distance and were gone.
###
Thank you for reading this story! If you enjoyed it, please let me know.
About the author:
Jeremy Kerr is a writer and actor living in Greensboro, NC. He recently received his B.A. in Drama and has had a number of his short plays produced at different universities.
Connect with me online:
Twitter: http://twitter.com/lemonbar77
Blog: http://lemonbar77.info