Children in adult clothing are creepy

A small ripple spread across the surface of the oasis in front of me. I was perched on a rock though, so it didn't worry me. After a second, more rippled began to spread from near the surface of the small pond I'd found sustenance in. A few bubbles rose as well, as if something was coming to the surface.
 I straightened an imaginary tie. Of course, I was not wearing a tie, I was in the desert. No-one wears ties in the desert. I was actually naked. Not in a gratuitous sense, I'd just stripped down and washed myself from the oasis. Actually, I decided it would be best not to mention that to whatever emerged, seeing how I'd just soaked my genitalia in its home.

 After a few seconds, a small child - maybe 3 or 4 - emerged from the middle of the oasis and walked to the shore. He WAS wearing a tie, and a small adorable suit. The water ran down his body, dripping into the sand, his body drying instantly, his suit unblemished. He approached me, and I quickly moved a rock to cover my shame. I know the situation is completely innocent, but it would probably be best to not be found alone, naked and with a child.

 The child reached the nearest rock to me, and regarded me thoughtfully.
 "You're naked." He remarked scornfully.
 "I was hot, needed to cool down." I replied abashed. Then, regaining my metaphorical balance, "Anyway, what business is it of yours?"
 "Do you think we should be naked naturally?" He demanded I answer
 "Well, yes. Naturally. I mean, clothes have many adva...." But he cut me off.
 "I mean, does God want us to be naked? If God wanted us to be naked, would we be born dressed?"
 "What?" I replied, confused.
 "Look at my suit. Do you think this comes from a shop? The result of a cash transfer? No! I was born wearing this, and only remove it in the privacy of my laundry room, where I instantly change into another suit while the first one washes."
 I looked at him. This was stupid. Still, I needed to know:
 "Were you born with a spare suit?"
 "No! How dare you! Those born with a second suit are an abomination to the Lord!" He yelled.
 "Then where did you get it?" I asked.
 "Oh, I bought it." He replied. "Now, why not give this a read?"
He passed me a small pile of pamphlets, before turning on his heels and walking back into the oasis. I watched him go, before casually flicking through the literature. It showed a lot of babies wearing suits. Some of them even had little bowler hats.

 The sun began to set, and I dressed again. After a while, I burned the literature for warmth. Then I crawled under some rocks and tried to get some sleep.

Sand, tears and melodrama

Some sand. Image via WikipediaThe desert stretched out in front of me like a big desert, spreading from horizon to horizon like Lawrence of Arabia. Or a big desert. Sand, filling the area like a bathtub fills with sand, stretched across this aforementioned area. I'd wandered from the road. Where I was going, we didn't need roads.
 Still, I'd noticed some tracks heading off into the distance about 3 hours ago. Having no sense of direction, nor natural compass, I decided to follow them, falling step after step into pace with the ghost of my predecessor. As I walked, I began to study the tracks. They were... strange, to say the least. Long, sideways strokes that I'd at first taken to be snake, and also large paw-claw prints. You know, feet shaped like claws, but more padded and cuddly? But still not quite paws. Those kind of footsteps, intermixed.

So that was 3 hours ago. Now, after that time, I noticed something in the distance. A spec at first, as all things are when first conceived, growing into a blob of uncertainty as I approached. I drew nearer, still unable to understand the scene ahead. If I had know what tragedy lay in front of me, on that lukewarm desert, I would probably have turned back. Or maybe not - as I say, I have no sense of direction.

 The scene unfolded in front of me like a pop-up book of tragic proportions. This wasn't one for the kids, unless of course, you hate your kids. Two figures were ahead of me, animals flat in bestial movements. The Octopus, long and red and squidgy, lay prone on the ground. His eyes were glazed like solid ice, a substance he would surely have greeted gladly some time ago. His stare looked upwards, asking the Gods themselves, "why?".
 I looked into the eyes of his companion, and saw that no reassuring answer was forthcoming from the heartless azure that stretched above us. These eyes were fluid, melted ice that filled the wells and traced a path down the face of the Armadillo. She looked up to me, her tears still spilling and pooling on her companion's otherwise drenchless body.
 "What happened?" I asked.
She looked at me, her eyes -as I have mentioned - filled to the brim.
 "My parents told me it would never work. They were old fashioned like that."
 I nodded. I didn't know what was going on here, but this didn't seem the time to bring that up. Best just to let her talk.
 " 'Marry one of THEM?', they said. Back home, they don't like us inbreedin' with Octopus."
 I nodded. It was all I could really do.
 "So we runs off, Olly and me. Heads for America, got an aunt out there. Of course, the desert ain't for Olly. But he didn't say, never did like to complain. And now look at him! Look at him!"
 I looked at the dead Octopus. Secretly, I was impressed he'd made it this far. Resisting the temptation to fry him, I patted the Armadillo on the back and began to walk on.

The desert goes on for miles. Otherwise, it would just be a sandpit of a little beach without any water. Up high, we all look like ants. Desert ants. From the clouds, the Gods watch as one ant walks on. Behind him, there's a figure - could be two ants, could just be one really fat ant. After a while, a pool of salty tears forms. Eventually, a lake spreads out and drowns the two ants. The years go on, and life begins anew, trees spout by the lake, grass grows. Eventually, helicopter, pilot blinded by a reflection from the lake's surface, crashes into the pool. The oil leaks out, destroying the Oasis. But the Gods watch on, impassive. All live has it's place, and what can an ant do but play his role?

 Probably not run off with a Octopus into the fucking desert, I suppose.

I felt I should recover my decorum after the madness...

The owls were dead. That's all the closure you're going to get.

This isn't me. From here...

The rain was light, nothing to complain about. I shouldn't open with the weather, I know, but it's all there was in the desert. The rocks moved slightly underfoot, thin gravel and small road boulders running around my feet. The rainwater filled around my feet as the time passed, even the lightest of falls make torrents with time. Also, I was walking in a gutter. I'd decided it was time for a break, time to control the beast within me. Not a real beast, although my departure, shirted and bag on back down a desert highway was rather reminiscent of the Hulk.

 No, the beast was one of metaphorical proportions. It was anger though, like Bruce Banner. But stupid anger, anger towards Max (Which isn't so stupid) and anger towards most things. I mean, ok, zombie owls attacked my house the other day, and a lot of other bad shit happened to me in the past. But really, it's nothing worth complaining about. Besides, it'll do me some good to have a break. Meet new people, see interesting new places.

Ahead of me, in the road, a vulture sat watching me. I began to worry, could he be the Devil? Pissed him off before, probably best to avoid him. But then again, he'd been wearing a suit and was red. The vulture was not, and I didn't figure the Devil to be the kind of person who'd try to trick you.

 "Caww" Said the vulture.
I stopped and looked at him sadly.
 "Caww!" He said. Note, please, the excitement he said it in.
 "I'm sorry," I replied. "I don't speak vulture."
 "Caww!" He repeated. I shook my head again, and he pulled a knife from his feathers, waving it unsteadily in my direction.
 "Caww! Give me your wallet!" He demanded.
 "You bastard!" I yelled. "You spoke English the whole time! Where's the nearest train station?"
 "Caww! Wallet!" He yelled.
I was bored, and began walking again. As I passed the vulture, he lunged at me with the knife. Fortunately, he had no hands, so the stab had no force. Dropping the knife, he looked embarrassed and retreated behind a nearby rock.
 After a few seconds, the bitter-sweet noise of animal crying filled the air. I too became embarrassed, and set off again on my journey.

It's ok, I'm getting out of the bloody desert today.

That was something of a lie, I'll admit. There is little blood in the desert... Except for the Mexicans: the customer killed and ate them all. Nah, not really. Everyone's doing fine, we even found a copy of Hungry Hungry Hippos to play of an evening.
 The helicopter, that's where we were. I can't really be bothered re-reading my last post, so I'll hope for the best. The helicopter's landed now. Did I mention that? Oh well, here goes.
 I approached the helicopter. With any luck, this wouldn't just contain deer like the last three airborne vehicles I'd seen. Who'd have guessed deer loved oranges so much? Anyhow, as I approached, the pilot hopped out, accompanied by the familiar figure in the passenger seat: Max! Twice in as many decades, I felt pleased to see him.
 "Max! What're you doing here?" I yelled happily, rushing to greet him and offer an orange.
 "Nuclear war!" He yelled "The sky burned, the oceans boiled, the fish cooked! Britain's full of zombies, from Aberdeen to Zurich!"
 Disregarding the location of Zurich, Max continued:
 "Civilization has collapsed. Armies of nuclear choirs roam the countryside, and the mutant-zombies have seized control of the electricity supplies. We have to rebuild civilization! Here! With Mexicans!"
 "Really?" I asked. Frankly, it was all a lot to take in.
 "Nah." Max replied. "I just thought I should find you. I broke your toaster."
We packed up the oranges, and all flew home. Sometimes, there's a simple solution to problems. One minute, evil British aristocrats kidnap you and make you man an orange stall in the desert, the next minute, you get in a helicopter and go home.
 Actually, you're right, this is deus ex machina really. Not a satisfying conclusion at all. I'm very sorry.

The sun had once again risen...

And so had we. Myself, the Mexicans, and now the customer from yesterday - who had inexplicably joined our workforce - we milling around the storefront, bored. We'd already rearranged the pyramid of oranges, and drawn little faces on some of the bigger oranges, and done other things to oranges. Now, I wanted out of the desert. This had gone, like most of my life, beyond a joke.
 Outside, a desert snake prowled restlessly. I didn't worry about it, all the snakes 'round here seemed to do was steal the oranges. Everything revolves around oranges in the desert, it would seem.
 Crafting a gun from oranges, I set out into the desert. I'd seen a rock nearby, and thought it might be a nice place to shoot myself. Or drown myself in orange juice. Or get a nice view, whatever. Settling on the boiling rock surface in the blistering sun, I threw one cursory last glance at the sun. It looked like a giant orange, and I was so very angry.
 My internal monologue broke: Something, fast approaching from the sky. Helicopter! Coloured fecking orange, but you can't have everything. An eternity passed in a moment, and the mechanical, bladed seagull descended to the sand, near the orange stall.
 I approached, not getting my hopes up. Most likely, it wasn't a rescue, but another orange-hungry passer-by.
 We have bloody good oranges, you see.

Valencia or bust...

The bears are hard taskmasters. Within minutes of our van departure, a truck appeared in the distance. Snaking across the desert, it arrived in front of us, stopping in the midday sun. A fat man in a vest got out of the driver's seat, rushing to the back, and pressing some buttons on a panel.
 The side of the truck opened, sliding up onto the roof. Inside, a tropical paradise revealed itself. A man in safari outfit sat behind a camp table, in the middle of a lush jungle that seemed to stretch for miles, even though it was about 20-foot deep. Exotic birds flew from the jungle, exploring the desert and exploding into flames occasionally. The man, around 6-foot and with a small blond moustache, rose from his seat and offered a white gloved hand.
 "Sir Nigel Farnsworth-Holmes." He stated. I assumed it was his name, as gloves generally don't have doubled-barreled surnames.
 "And you must be the, ah ha, willing building crew!"
I looked around. This, even for me, was rather strange.
 "Gentlemen" - and here he addressed the bears - "You've brought the supplies?"
 The first bear nodded the affirmative, taking some sort of device from his pocket, and pressing a button. It was then I noticed a second truck had arrived silently behind us. As the bear pressed the button, the back of the truck opened, and teams of workmen began to bring building materials onto the sand.
 We watched for a few minutes. They brought out bricks, wooden trusses, cement, even paint.
 "You have your materials," Sir Nigel began, "And your unskilled day-labourers"
 I looked at the Mexican family. The father mouthed to me that he had a doctorate in Sociology.
 "So you can begin work immediately. I will return in one week, and expect to be able to buy fresh oranges at my convenience"
 With that, the truck closed up and departed. The bears and the supply truck did likewise. Approaching the building materials, I found a case full of papers. Amongst them, I found blueprints for a small building, and a pamphlet entitled "How to build and run your own Orange Empire - In the DESERT!"
 Resigning myself to my fate, I set the Mexicans to work. Prising open a crate, we found many oranges, and did eat heartily. Afterwords, we built the orange shop, and waited for customers. It was not long before they began to, I lie, flood in.

Eternal sunlight on the spotless bear.

The van doors opened. In fact, they opened in a fashion far more dramatic way than I can convey with words. But I'll try anyway:
 Springing open like caged rabbits eager for fresh lettuce, the metal doors of our confinement stood at attention. Sunlight bathed us like the care-worker of an elderly man, stroking itself softly across my wrinkled, fully clothed genitals. Terrified, we recoiled, fear snaking around our hearts, as if our very entrails would crush the life from us. Fearful, the Mexicans recoiled, mumbling and crying out in a manner cliched enough to be called racist.
 Outside, the bears. Now we were away from civilisation and their need for disguises, they were dressed in leathers. Leather biker coats, leather caps and large sunglasses. They looked a little like that one member of the village people, but without moustaches. Also, they were giant killing machines. The first one held the keys for the van, the second appeared to be clutching a submachine gun. Modified for his bear-fingers, of course.
 Gesturing sharply, the first bear ordered us out of the van. Stepping onto the desert outside, I felt like the first human to set foot on Mars. Although hopefully, that achievement won't be overshadowed by bear kidnap. The Mexican family followed me out, huddling together near the van. I stretched and looked around. Nothing for miles, red sand stretching to the horizons, and no signs of life beyond the trail from the van stretching towards the sunset.
 This probably wasn't good. Still, it's my birthday in October, and maybe someone's planning an elaborate surprise. One should never give up hope...

No Man is an Island, Part 2

Yes, Harold thought to himself, life on the island wasn't so bad after all.
It was a pity about the crushing loneliness though.

No man is an Island

All in all, the situation could have been a lot worse for Harold. Of course, he was still stuck on the desert island, but the weather was nice, and the plane wreck would keep him in supplies for another 6 or so months: plenty of time for him to get the edible tropical bug farm up and running.

At first, he had been a little despondent when his boat had sunk, leaving him marooned on the small island. He had carried out the standard, cliched actions - building a big fire, writing "help" in rocks, and searching for a single local who he could name ridiculously - but to no avail. However, after exploring the island, he found it had fresh water, and at least some edible plants and the like. Then had come the plane crash:
He had seen the plain trailing through the sky, and ran to start a fire. Unfortunately, the plane seemed to be in a spot of bother, and crashed into the ocean nearby. Harold had swam out to exploer, but it seemed the crew had parachuted out of the plane earlier. However, he found some rations, which broke up the monotony of eating coconuts, and crate after crate of sweat pants.
They were also rather tasty.