World of Weakness, World of Strength

I've been trapped in writer's block since some time in 2007, and the few crappy, incomplete stories I've posted since then have been ample proof of that. This one is a new story I'm writing, with which I have finally been able to more or less MUSCLE my way through the block on little more than a decent idea and sheer grit. As such, please keep this in mind as you read the story - I don't think it's some of my greatest work, and it's based only loosely on an idea that I'm forming up as I go along. I know it may not be good, but it's primary purpose is to save my ability to write ANYTHING by helping me rediscover my writing under a radically different mentality.

Like before, this story is told by a woman, so please ignore the male screen name next to the stories. Consider me just a publisher, with the character telling them being completely separate. Also, as this is written as I go along, it may not be very good in the beginning, but it gets (ever so slightly) better as I plan farther and farther ahead. I already have a few chapters written, but I won't dump them all at the same time because then I KNOW no-one will ever read it

As always, I would really, really, REALLY like to hear your feedback. However you feel about it, if you read it, please leave me a comment. This is relatively new ground for me, and I really want to hear what other people think of it so I know if I'm going in the right direction.

Thank you for your time.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Arcanaville Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.

World of Weakness, World of Strength

Savage Earth

I don’t get this place. How can a world filled with such small, weak, helpless people even exist? How can it support itself? All they’ve ever known is safety, peace and easy living, and every time anything goes wrong, they throw their hands in the air, give up and cry for help. “Oh, help! Come, save me! I am completely worthless and pathetic! Oh, please, help!” It makes me sick! And don’t even get me started on the women here! How in the blue hell did they start being viewed as weak, pathetic creatures who can’t and shouldn’t show strength and should, instead, always wait for men to save them and take care of them? The men I’ve seen are certainly noting amazing. Hell, they need someone to look after THEM! And I have to save these people, over and over again! Honestly, sometimes I wish I could just tell them all to go to hell and take care of themselves for a change.

*sigh*

But I can’t. I made a promise. To protect the weak of this word, to save them from danger and save them from those who want to do them harm. It was always his idea – a perfect world without danger, without pain and without hardship. A world where no-one needs to struggle for survival, and where no-one needs to fear for his life. His perfect world... I never understood it, myself, but he believed in it so passionately, so... Strongly. Malcolm... He was such an enigma. A small, skinny, unassuming man, at first glance so weak and frail, and yet he was probably the bravest, strongest man I have ever seen. To this day I still don’t know how he managed it. He inspired people. He gave them courage, gave them confidence, and such amazing strength. I have seen this man turn weaklings into true heroes just through his own example.

I don’t get this place. How can a world filled with such embarrassing weakness hold such amazing, unbelievable strength? How can these frail, pathetic creatures transform into such powerful heroes? I’ve wondered this for a long time, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have a good answer. I never understood things, but I guess I got used to relying on Malcolm for this. I... Suppose I expected him to know the answers, to find the strength, to... To help me. But now... Now I just don’t know.

They call me Brutticus. I come from much simpler, much more basic world. There, I had no name, for we had no language. “Brutticus” is what they called me here. Why I don’t know. I didn’t ask them, and no-one asked me. They sort of simply did. Ten years ago, I came here. How that happened I have never been able to understand, the sciences of this place really don’t interest me. To the extent I understand it, I came from some alternate dimension thing they called “Savage Earth.” Another world, to put it simpler. They say my home is a lot like this one, but I can’t find any similarities, myself.

Back home, I was queen of my own tribe, so to speak. We didn’t really have ranks or titles. My people stuck together and followed anyone who was strong enough to lead. My father led our tribe before he died. Afterwards, I stepped up to take over. We needed a strong leader, and none of my brethren could even hope to live up to my father. Nor would I let them try, weak as they were. It would have led us into disaster. You see, unlike this cosy, comfy world, my home was a rather more uncomfortable place. Here, people are at the very top of the food chain, and they firmly control the world. Back home, we were little more than food for the numerous beasts that roamed the land.

I come from a world of constant danger. Where hulking monsters are not trying to kill us, poisonous, carnivorous plants stalk us in the jungle and all manner of little critters wait to infect our bodies and eat us from the inside out. And even if we survive all our enemies, the elements will still try to kill us at every step. Cutting winds, lightning, snow and fire, floods and even the ground itself. Everything is our enemy. There is no safety, no security... No home. As a tribe, we were constantly on the move, slaying the monsters in a cave or a clearing to carve ourselves shelter for the night and gather some meat, then we moved on with the sunrise. Travel by night was unthinkable, for the spirits of the night would carry people off into the darkness and rend them limb from limb. Such was my world that it would reduce the strongest of this world’s men to whimpering heaps of flesh, but to us, such was life.

Panic is one thing about this world I still have yet to understand. How can people here be so deathly afraid of something that they lose the ability to think and act? In my home, such a reaction would get you killed in an instant. We lived in mortal danger as an everyday occurrence. Of course we feared it – fear is what warns us of danger. But when I am afraid, my mind clears, my senses sharpen and I yearn to stare death in the face. Only through the courage to face danger and the strength to overcome it could we ever hope to survive against the hostile Earth, which seemed to want nothing more than to kill us all the time. We had no use for weaklings, no use for baggage to take care of. Those who could not fend for themselves and contribute to the tribe were left behind. You may feel this is cruel, but in my eyes it was justified. This made us stronger, harder to kill and more able to survive when every man, woman and child was strong and able.

We may have lived in a world of horrible danger, but we were tough, all of us. I have seen men wrestle wild beasts ten times their own size into submission, I have seen women move boulders the size of mountains, and I have seen little children of maybe five or six catching and killing their own food. Here, people are amazed at me when I say this, but back home, this was completely natural, and indeed expected. We had to fight for our survival, and only the fittest survived. And I was the strongest and fittest of my tribe. I’m told I shouldn’t brag about this, but I see no reason not to. Why would I try to make all the weaklings feel better about themselves by playing down my own strength? Let them see and hear it, let them envy. Maybe then they will train and become stronger, themselves. This is how we lived and this is what we believed in. We held faith not in gods or spirits or any of that religious nonsense. We held faith for strength and power. They who were stronger were they who we prayed to, for only they could deliver.

We lived a good life. We had few dead, we managed to avoid the larger monsters and keep away from the swamps, our women were fertile and our numbers strong. Beast encounters were frequent and sometimes deadly, but not too special. They kept us in shape without providing too much danger. I’d even started looking for a successor, as I was seeing more close calls than usual and feared I could be killed at some time soon. A young girl was showing good promise at the time. But that was not to be. I don’t know how, but we unwittingly walked into a nest of giant lizards. Before we knew it, the invincible critters had cut our escape route and were swarming on us like giant ants. We were barely a hundred, but we managed to kill thousands of the things as we held our position. But, inevitably, we were slowly being killed off, one by one. Strong as we may have been, we were simply not strong enough.

In the end, I alone was left fighting for my life. I was covered in fang and claw cuts, but I was lucky enough to avoid any vital organ damage, and I still had strength enough in me to fight on. But the tide of giant lizards would never end. There must have been millions of them in there, it was a huge nest. Larger than I’d ever seen in my life. I knew that I would eventually be overwhelmed and killed like all the rest, but I didn’t care. We live, we die. That’s just how things go. But I would be damned if I would let the bastards take me down without a fight. I would go down, but I would take as many of them down with me as I could. I’ve always taken pride in my own strength, and it seemed like I would get to use all of it back then.

I didn’t die, however. I still don’t know how or why it happened, but a powerful, bright light suddenly appeared behind me just as a giant lizard knocked me back into it. Turns out this was a dimensional rupture or something like that, I never quite understood that. Essentially, this light took me from my world into this one. I’m told that, at one point, the... What was it called? Walls or barriers or some such between dimensions had weakened and these wormholes... Or was it rifts? Whatever. These “holes” were opening up between dimensions everywhere, and one just happened to open up behind me. Everyone seems to be amazed at how unlikely this is, but eh. Who cares about likelihood? It saved my life, and that’s about as long as I’m going to spend thinking about it.

I got knocked back through the by the lizard, and I ended up in this world, in a forest somewhere, I don’t remember. The lizard that had pushed me came through, as well, though the others didn’t follow. Given how powerful the light was, they were probably scared. The lizard, dumb as they are, was still after me, but dispatching a single one was beyond easy. These things are almost completely invulnerable, but they’re easy to cut if you aim just right, or, really, if you just swing hard enough. Not a lot of people are strong enough to kill them as easily, but I just happen to be one of them.

And after that... Nothing. The fight left me bleeding and broken all over, and if this had been back home, I’d have been dead in minutes. The beasts I knew could sense your weakness. They knew when you were vulnerable, and they would wrestle each other to devour you. I limped my way away from the scene, expecting something to attack me at any moment, but nothing did. That really surprised me, that feeling of... Well, you’d probably call it “calm,” but for me it was foreboding. I’d never known what it was like to be safe, never known what it was like to not live in constant fear for your life, so I felt uneasy, like there was danger that I just couldn’t see. I didn’t sleep for I think two days, constantly looking out for the deadly beasts I thought were lurking around, very much until the last ounce of strength simply left my body.

Now, I’ve told this story to a lot of people. Apparently, it’s just that interesting, hell if I know why. One thing they always remark is how I can talk about a near-death experience so nonchalantly. In fact, I’ve been told it sounds like an everyday event, the way I describe it. The truth, though, is... Well, it was. People live, people die, and we struggle for survival in-between. If I sat down to cry about it every time a tribesman got killed or tremble in fear every time I got out of a fight with broken bones and bleeding gashes I’d never get anything done. That’s a daily affair. You fight, you heal up, then you go up to fight some more. It’s how things are. If anything, I don’t get people here and how upset they become at any hint of trouble. It’s like they expect everything to always go their way and no-one to ever have to get hurt or strain a muscle.

And, honestly, the environment here is a paradise. I always have to laugh when people talk about “hostile conditions.” Bah! The weather here is mild, at best, no animals are truly dangerous, and the materials are easy to work with. Heck, I was surprised how soft the wood was here. I spent I think six months just living off that forest, and not for a single moment did I feel threatened in the slightest. What was there to threaten me? The biggest animals I saw were bears, and they were both incredibly skittish and not really all that hardy. I’d fought animals bigger and stronger than them by the dozens every day back home. Here... Here I could just lay about all the time and nothing would ever happen to me.

I have to admit, though, there is something just... Indescribably alluring about the safety I felt alone in that forest. A certain kind of... Calm. It was a novel, strange sensation, something I had never felt back home. This feeling of security, of strange serenity. The feeling that I could just relax, let go and go to sleep, and everything would be fine with the world. I slept a lot during that time, and I dreamt a lot. I never dreamt back home, we almost never got much of any sleep, but here I could relax and almost lose myself in the magic of this place. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid. For the first time in my life, I could relax. Relax, and think.

Back home, I had never had time to just stop and think. It’s difficult to explain how little time there was to do anything in such a way that people here would understand me. Imagine living a life running a marathon all day, every day, and never being able to stop for more than half an hour, and you’ll have some idea of how hard we had to struggle to survive back home. Here, though... Here I could just live, I could look at the world and take it all in, and feel... Happy. I admit, I slacked off a lot during that time. I began to slow down, to settle and let my guard down, because every time I stopped, I was awash in this odd sensation I could simply not understand. Happiness was simply not something I was aware even existed, but it with each passing day, it became something I craved more and more.

The calm and serenity of Earth was starting to wake up something inside of me, something I’ve been chasing ever since that day I arrived here. I... I’m not sure what that something is. “Happiness” is too simple an answer, but “purpose,” maybe? I don’t know. I just know that suddenly I realised I was no longer satisfied living like a mindless beast, just scraping by a meagre existence. I wanted to think, I wanted to feel, I wanted... Something more. Something more than just the simple act of staying alive. But that is an elusive thing. I think Malcolm understood. Of all the people I’ve met, he was the only one who seemed to just know what I was saying. I think he was searching for something, too. Something more out of life, something better. He... He was a good man. He always seemed to know what to do and what to say. I don’t know if I ever fully understood him, but I... I wish he were here now.

I honestly don’t remember exactly what I did back then, and I’m not sure I remember what happened to me. My past feels almost like a dream sometimes, like the memories of a different person. I don’t know what changed in me. I just know that, like a child meeting a new experience for the first time, I grabbed onto this happiness I couldn’t understand I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to feel it, to... I guess, just to feel. I spent a lot of time living in that forest, searching for something I couldn’t understand and just waking up from the single-minded instinct I had been a slave to for thirty years.

But my serenity would not last long. My world may be populated by bloodthirsty, ugly monsters, but your world would soon show me evil uglier and more revolting than anything I had seen before.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Arcanaville Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.

First contact

You know, I’ve never been a spiritual type person. I never really had much time to think about meanings and higher beings back home, and, frankly, I haven’t see a point to spending time thinking about it since. No sense worrying about something you can’t control. So, I didn’t really worry about finding myself in this strange, idyllic new world. Yes, I kind of missed my tribe, and seeing them all die did bug me, but it is what it is. I suppose I could delve into some long explanation about how we didn’t really have very close bonds back home, but, really, what does it matter? I got over it. Some people live, some people die, but the main thing is to survive. Your philosophies don’t really matter if you’re dead, now do they?

And, honestly, it really wasn’t as bad to be on my own as I had initially feared it would be. Back home, a human alone was dead in minutes, so the strength in numbers of my tribe was vital. Here, though, on this passive Earth, life was easy. Is easy, in fact. Few things can even harm me, let alone kill me, and most of the dangerous things are easy to plain old avoid. Here, I don’t really need anyone’s help, so I don’t really have much reason to miss my tribe when I don’t actually need them. It’s kind of like strangers dying in one of your wars somewhere far away. Do you really miss them? Maybe if you buy into some kind of rhetoric about how life is sacred and every death is a tragedy or some such nonsense, but where I come from, life is cheap. You either survive or you die, and everything just keeps on going.

I will admit, though, that I got spoiled on the ease of this world. Where back home I would have to fight for everything and anything like my life depended on it – which it did – here I could lay about and slack off and still I would never be in danger and never be short of food. It’s strangely... Alluring, this kind of life style, especially for someone like me who is naturally always ready for a fight. I’m not a spiritual type person, but I have to admit that this experience really changed me. I discovered the serenity of being alone and the calm focus of being at peace with all things. Those aren’t my own words, actually, but they describe the situation closely enough.

Here’s the odd thing – I was brought up to believe that constant readiness, training and aggressive action were the only way to survive, that strength and rage were the only tools. The truth is, though, that a calm, focused mind can accomplish these things and more, and with a lot less strain and trouble. When I stopped to think about what I was actually doing, I realised how wrongly I had been doing a lot of things. I had time to practice my knots, sharpen my blade, train my technique and even just generally improve on my own abilities, something I could never even imagine doing in the constant action of my home. Heh. I guess Malcolm had at least some point in trying to protect the weak.

Speaking of Malcolm, it’s around that time that I first met him. I spotted this tiny little man while I was out exploring the forest, and I got curious, so I followed him for a few days. I hadn’t seen any people since I’d come to this world, and, to be honest, I hadn’t even thought about looking for them. Back home, other people were actually one of the most dangerous things you could come across. All people were powerful, able warriors, and there was no such thing as honour or morality. An aggressive tribe, for instance, wouldn’t think twice about killing and eating another tribe they came across. I always found that disgusting, myself, and I believed there was plenty of room for everybody, so when I led my own tribe, we just avoided everybody else. There was really nothing to be gained from fighting other people, and these fights were usually some of the most dangerous we could have.

At first I thought I’d just back up and keep away from this little man, but he was so tiny and skinny he didn’t look like he could pose a credible threat to me. Plus, he was alone, which was quite unusual, specifically from my standpoint. Did he get lost, too? Look, I’m not a curious person. Back home, curious people were dead people, because everything was trying to kill us. Here, though, in the safety of this world, I... Well, I guess I just couldn’t resist. There was something strangely interesting about this little man.

Oh, while we’re on the subject, let me explain about why I keep saying “little man.” If I remember right, I’m 7’1’’ tall, which back home made me rather short compared to the taller members of my tribe. Here, though, I’m one of the tallest people around, towering over supposedly big, strong men. I have to say, it’s really amusing to watch tough guys react to me with a little bit of anger and a little bit of fear. I do so enjoy crushing their macho dreams. I really hate people like that – they talk big and make themselves out to be so tough and strong, but when it comes down to it, they’re actually pathetically weak. Seriously, most of these “tough guys” wouldn’t last a second back home. They’re so used to having everything delivered right into their hands – food, shelter, security.

Ugh! And to think how these men treat women! Where does this belief that women should be frail and weak come from? Back home, women would break your jaw for so much as trying to suggest that. We were all survivors and warriors. No-one was weak, because the weak got eaten by predators. And I’m not sure if I should blame men for perpetuating this notion here, or women for allowing it! Then again, their lives are so easy I don’t think any man or woman could claim to be “tough.”

Anyway, back to Malcolm’s story. I spotted him in the forest and I trailed him. I’m... Not sure why. Boredom, I guess. That was a novel concept for me. Back home, I never had a minute of spare time and a million things to do, so I didn’t even know I could BE bored, but here I found myself with a lot of time on my hands and few ways to keep busy with. Trying to learn about the first man I’d seen in this world was a pretty interesting one.

He walked through the forest for a couple of days, until he came upon a camp of some kind of strange men, full of weird things I’d never seen. They had these things called machines with them... Vehicles, maybe? I don’t remember, I don’t understand this world’s sciences much. The man I was following snuck up to the edge of the camp and looked like he was just standing there and watching. I later found out he had been making... No. Getting... Taking... Taking! Taking pictures of it for... Reasons I never quite understood. Later, he would say they were important, and that’s all I really cared about. Well, he hid in a bush for a while, but the men spotted him and chased him through the forest. I wanted to just back away and leave them alone, but something tugged on me to stay. I’m not sure why, but I found this little man running through the forest absolutely fascinating. The men in the camp, them I could understand. Like one of the tribes back home, they worked together to hunt their pray. But why was this man alone, and what did he want out of them? I got honestly curious.

The men from the camp chased the running man for I think a couple of miles and eventually managed to surround him. They shouted things at him that I couldn’t understand at the time, and eventually began brutally beating him. Now, look... I don’t meddle in other people’s business. As I said, back home I made it a point to avoid people at all times, and I would never stick my neck out and specifically attack another tribe. But this man... Well, I guess he reminded me of myself when I was fighting the lizards. He was alone, facing insurmountable foes and desperately fighting for his life. I knew what that felt like, and though I’ll be the first to say it’s natural... It’s a horrible thing. That feeling of helplessness, of doom, knowing that you’re going to die and there is nothing you can do about it... I don’t ever want to go through that ever again and, for some reason I can’t explain, I didn’t want to let him go through that, either.

So, I did about the only thing I knew how to do – I jumped into the fray and swung my trusty axe around. My enemies were small and physically weak, but their weapons were much more sinister than anything I could have expected. They had these metal, err... Firehands? Firearms? Something like that. The things shot out bullets, I think, almost as fast as a carnivorous spitting vine, and even though they didn’t seem to be armoured, their clothes were harder than the bark of the turtle tree. They also seemed to be organised pretty well, as they talked to each other a lot – something we never thought to do back home. But, and I have to brag, I’ve faced off against two dozen spitting vines before when my tribe fell into a very nasty trap, so I was prepared. In fact, this is specifically why I chose to use a shield as an offhand weapon when most other tribesmen preferred either two-handed or dual weapons. I have to say, hunting down a predatory ironwood giant to make this shield has proved its worth many, many times in the past.

The fight was as fierce as I’d ever seen it, and I got a few solid wounds along the way, but I wasn’t scared. Quite on the contrary, it woke me up from my lethargy and reminded me what I was made to do. I led my tribe because I lived to fight, and I was very good at it. Better than any man or woman I’ve known. That is why I survived when others didn’t, and that is what earned me a bloody victory in this fight. Well, OK, not a COMPLETE victory, because my enemies were too many and their weapons were too strong, but killing them all was never the objective. I survived and I managed to pull the man I was trailing away alive, as well, plus I did manage to cut down quite a significant number of them. I’m... Not really sure why I decided to do that, however, and when it was done, I had no idea what to do next. I mean, I saved this man, but what was I going to do with him? I couldn’t eat him, I couldn’t use him, and I certainly couldn’t talk to him.

Or... So I thought. See, we never had language back home. We sort of got about on grunts and body language, but these people had a fully developed, complex speech that I simply couldn’t make heads or tails out of. Except, he seemed to understand me, and when he spoke, I understood him. The reason why is... Complicated. If I understand things correctly, he was what they call a “telepath,” which basically gives him the ability to know what I’m thinking and make it so I know what he’s thinking. I still have no idea how that even works, beyond knowing that I can hear his voice in my head, though I guess meeting him was lucky. And, really, as long as it works, what does it matter how?

The man introduced himself as Oliver Malcolm, which was... Odd. Names? What’s that? At the time, I had no idea you could even name stuff. And, yes, I know I’ve called several things from my home by name already, but these are names I’ve made up over the years in this language so I can explain what I’m talking about. Back home, we didn’t have language and didn’t really talk to each other, so we had no use for naming anything. Apparently, Malcolm was a... Either a journalist or a photographer, I always mix these up. Either way, he had found out about these men who were doing, err... Something very bad, I don’t remember what. I couldn’t quite follow his story. Anyway, the men had come out into the forest to do something bad, and he had gone out there to get proof so other, stronger people could send soldiers to stop it. Wow... I didn’t think I actually remembered that...

Anyway, I didn’t really care about Malcolm’s story, but I realised he had been wounded pretty badly. I had taken more than a few shots, myself, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. He had taken only one to the gut, but apparently he was so frail even that was enough to put his life in danger. I pulled out the bullet he had been shot with and bandaged the wound as best I could, and MY GOODNESS he would not stop crying like a little child! I swear, I have had a few moments when I really wanted to kill this man, but never as much as during that time. You’re a grown man! Deal with the pain! Seriously, how do people in this world even survive if they’re so fragile and whiny?

I stabilised Malcolm’s condition... Just about, and we started on the trek “back to civilization,” as he called it. I wasn’t too keen on meeting new people, what with the only ones I had met having shot at me, but Malcolm was too weak to walk on his own and he would have died if I had left him. You know, it feels like everything I’ve done since coming to this world is drag people around, saving their sorry lives. Am I the only person who can take care of herself? Seriously! Hell, I even ended up carrying him on my back for I think 50 miles when he lost the strength to stand up. And he had been shot once. ONCE! I was running around with a dozen bullet wounds AND a man on my back doing all the leg work, and he, the man with a single bullet wound was dying. It would be funny, if it weren’t sad!

But I think meeting Malcolm was a good thing. Without him, I would probably have remained hidden out there in the forest, living like an animal and not really knowing what to do with my life. He introduced me to the rest of the worlds and showed me all the wonders Earth’s humanity had to offer. And while I’ve never really taken to technology much, I think meeting more people has helped me developed into the woman I am today. And I am proud of who I am.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Arcanaville Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.

Kindness

You know, I’m a patient woman. Growing up in a world of constant danger and ever-present hurry, you’d think I’d be antsy all the time, but the truth is that many of the more sinister carnivores back home actually prayed on people’s drive to act before thinking. In a world where the difference between life and death was a single wrong step, you better believe I learned to resist tension and be cool under pressure. The fight with the giant lizards that initially brought me to this world was a perfect example. When scores of the things were swarming in on me, I felt like I wanted nothing more than to just swing my axe wildly and swat at them as hard as I could. But the bastards were covered by unbreakable bony plates, so doing that would have gotten me killed. Instead, I had to act cool, think fast and aim for the centre of the head where the plates join.

In fact, most of the people in my tribe who died lost their lives to bad, rash decisions, either running into the killing fields of predators before they could recognise the signs, or failing to wait for an opening to strike in battle. Strength alone was not enough, and indeed I wasn’t the stronger of my people, but I was still the most powerful in final effect, second only to my father before he died. Survival back home was not just a matter of strong body, it required a balance between a body and mind.

Which is why it infuriates me when the people of this Earth treat me and my kind as if we were some kind of subhuman idiots! The nerve of these people, touting their complicated words and numbers as though they are the height of intelligence, when they make stupid, catastrophic decisions themselves, and do so every day! I’ve seen more men hurt out of their sheer stupidity, literally inventing danger where there is none, than hurt from legitimate problems. And they have the nerve to suggest MY intelligence is low? I am not stupid! I may not know this world’s tricky sciences, but there is more to being smart than just knowing facts, and I think I’ve proven this over the years.

Now, I’m a patient woman, and I’ve dealt with many irritating, pressing problems with a cool head, and even managed to avoid punching self-professed intellectuals in the mouth for the most part, but Malcolm really, REALLY stretched my self-restraint. I come from a world of quiet, where only the sounds of nature can be heard and people only ever nod or gesture to each other. I hadn’t heard language before at all. However, the novelty of this strange new concept wore off pretty quickly when I realised that he just would not stop talking even for a minute. He went on and on and on about all sorts of things. I guess he was very excited to meet me. To be fair, he was a great man, and I would learn a lot from him in time, but then and there I just wanted to find a way to shut him up without killing him. Gagging him would certainly not work, as he could speak to my mind directly. Believe me, I tried.

Malcolm and I spent a little under two days together, walking through the forest back to this “city” he had mentioned. We covered around 50 miles with one overnight rest, and my god did we drag our feet along the way. If I were alone, I could have covered the distance in five hours and not broken a sweat, but since I was lugging his sorry hide around and had to mind his wound, it took FOREVER. Now, look – I’m patient, but any patience has is not infinite, and Malcolm certainly explored the upper limits of mine. Although... Really, I have to be honest, amid his childishly excited rambling, he did tell me a lot of things I really needed to know in order to be prepared for the utter cultural shock I would suffer when I finally discovered “civilization.”

Malcolm told me a lot about cities, though I couldn’t really comprehend much of it at the time. It was just so alien to me. Back home, we didn’t have anything which would count as a “structure.” Occasionally we’d take shelter in natural caves, or the hollowed-out husks of dead monster trees, but as far as constructing anything ourselves, we never so much as put two branches against each other. And, honestly, there was never any point – we didn’t spend long enough in one place for that to matter. We just slept on the ground and moved on. Yet here he was, telling me about man-made things as tall as the sky, made out of stone and iron, paths paved, with thousands of people crowding around. I thought he was delirious, as he was running a fever at the time. I just couldn’t imagine such a thing.

He told me about machines, and about vehicles, even if those are a mystery to me to this day. I accept that there are these “things” which perform certain “actions,” but what makes them work I’ve never been able to understand, nor honestly really cared. I was never interested in knowing about them or using them. Far as I’m concerned, they are part of what makes the people of this world so soft and helpless. When they chose machines to do their work for them, they lost the strength and talent to do it, themselves.

More than anything else, however, Malcolm warned me how to act around other people. I’ll give him one thing – he was a smart man. He knew I couldn’t communicate with the people, and he understood I had no people skills at all, so he coached me. He told me to say nothing and not try to interact with them, warned me not to intimidate or push them, and just generally asked me to be gentle.

Gentle... I could never quite wrap my head around that concept. Back home, we always acted hard and we acted fast. Decisive action was what kept us alive. There was never any time for sentiment or subtlety. It was kill or be killed. But Malcolm wasn’t like that. He may have been one of the weakest people I’ve ever met, even by this world’s standard, and that’s saying something, but he always had a way of making me feel at ease. All my life, every living memory I had, I had fought for everything. Fought for food, fought for shelter, fought for my life. But with Malcolm, I felt safe, I felt... Somehow at ease. There was a certain power in his words, I will admit, but I never felt like I had to fight him. He was always so... Kind, I guess. Even when he was hurt so bad he could barely breathe, he always tried to reassure me and make me feel better.

Malcolm made me feel something I had never felt before. Even back home, even within the tight-knit, family bonds of my tribe, I never felt like anyone really, truly cared about me. Yes, we protected each other, but we never put much emotion into it. I needed my tribe to survive, and they needed me, so we protected each other. It was pragmatic, nothing more, no different from the beast that retreats from combat when it realises it cannot kill you without suffering grievous harm to itself. Look... I’m not sure I understand this, myself. I don’t know the how and the why, and even though I’ve been trying to make sense of it for the past ten years, I still don’t know if I’m any closer to knowing. All I know is what I feel – this strange, inexplicable calm and happiness.

I started out wanting to kill Malcolm just to get him to shut up, but in the end, I think I actually grew to like him. Certainly, he was still annoying, but he seemed to genuinely care about me, to want to help me. Even though he was hurt, he seemed to care more about helping me than helping himself. And, I must admit, I kind of enjoyed it. Here I was, the strong woman of action lost in a strange new world and he, my frail, wounded guide, showing me the way. I was so used to doing everything alone, to fighting for myself and surviving on my own, that it was... Nice to have someone help me. Maybe even take care of me... I really miss that annoying, little man and his strange antics. The world is a much lonelier place without him.

Well, after I spent two days lugging his loudmouth hide around, tending to his wound and foraging for food and water, I began to feel more like a mother looking after a frail child... Which is odd, since I’ve never actually BEEN a mother, and we didn’t exactly tend to our children back home. I can’t say I disliked it, not entirely. There was something... Pleasant about taking care of another and watching them feel a little better. Malcolm was a kind man, and he never missed the opportunity to thank me. I’m not sure if I realised it at the time, but it made me feel... Kind of good to see that smile on his face. He had such a charming smile...

Except, on the other hand, it irritated me how frail and soft this supposed man was! In-between looking after him like a little child, I was trying to tend to my own wounds, extract the bullets, clean them, bandage them and so forth, while all he did was lay about! And, despite his words being helpful, his constant droning speech in my mind was more than a little annoying. Though... Thinking back on it now, I miss all of that. I guess, over the years, I sort of grew so accustomed to his irritating antics that it’s eerie to be without them now. It’s just... Too quiet without him.

But, Malcolm survived. After two days of trekking VERY slowly, I finally caught sight of this “Paragon City he had been telling me about. And, I must say, I was AMAZED. In all my years, I had never seen anything which came even close to this level of magnificence. I could never have imagined the size of these “buildings” he had told me about, or their wondrous shine. Spires shooting up into the sky, taller than the ancient titan trees. They were amazing. I could scarcely believe that such a thing could have been made by these small, helpless people who couldn’t even catch their own food. To this day I cannot understand how silly, frail people like the ones I see every day could create such wonders.

And then there were the people, themselves. Thousands of them, maybe even millions, crowding together and moving about like a torrent of bodies! I’d never seen such a thing. My tribe had been barely a hundred strong, and we were one of the larger ones I knew about, so I thought that was many. But this Paragon City was literally crawling with people everywhere you went. Walking through this city with a wounded man on my back was an almost surreal experience. The loud, horrible noise they made just talking to each other and the strange looks they gave me... This was a great culture shock to me. Back home, we mostly ignored each other, even within my own tribe. Everyone was always busy doing something. But here, I felt like everyone was focusing solely on me as I walked and... Well, I understand now how badly I was sticking out, but I did not enjoy it.

Malcolm had asked me to just do nothing and let him do all the talking. By that time, he had already fallen unconscious, but even torpor could not shut that man up. I want to say “much to my annoyance,” but I have to be fair – his ability to speak even when out cold actually helped a lot. He directed me to this... Hospitality? Hospital? Something like that. A place where people here tend to their wounded. Back home we’d just do it on the ground where the person fell, but I quickly realised the people here were too fragile for that little care.

The people at this hospitality took Malcolm away, and he instructed me to just stand in this little chamber and wait, and that he may be a few hours. And... I waited. I’m honestly not sure why I did. My instincts told me to just forget about him, leave and get away from this crazy place, but then my instincts had been telling me to abandon Malcolm for two days at that point. If I hadn’t listened to them before, I wasn’t about to listen to them now. I kept telling myself I would be lost in this strange world without him, but that was a lie. I could just as easily have left the way I came, returned to the forest and resumed life as I had been leading it before. But... I didn’t want that. I didn’t care about this “civilization” thing, mind you. I still don’t. As far as I’m concerned, it’s far too complicated for what it’s worth.

No, what I didn’t want to admit to myself at the time is that I wanted to meet Malcolm again. Yes, he was annoying, very much so! But at the same time... I liked being around him, at least a little. He was the first person I actually cared about in my life, believe it or not. Plus, I’d seen the man in action, and I knew he would be lost without me. I know it’s silly – he’s a grown man and probably better at scrounging up an existence in this overcomplicated world than I was, but it was quite obvious to me that he needed someone to take care of him, the little man.

So I stayed and I waited, every instinct in my body telling me I was being a fool. I guess this was a new experience I just couldn’t resist. As it turned out, waiting for Malcolm was the right call to make.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Arcanaville Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.

Home

Sometimes this world can be a confusing place. If you ask people here, they will say I am uncaring and cold. Indeed, back home, we never had very strong bonds of affection, my tribe and I. We stuck together, because that was the only way to survive. A man alone in the wilderness was prey for every monster out there. A man alone did not survive. Yeah, I know I’ve already said how I feel about the weak and powerless many times already, and to a large extent, it’s true. I would not condone weakness in my tribe. Those who pulled their weight survived, and those who fell behind died, killed by our hostile world. It was the nature of things where only the strong survived, and the tribe could never afford to carry the dead weight of the weak and crippled.

But at the same time, our bonds of trust were strong. We trusted our brethren with our lives, and they trusted us with them. Those who failed could not be trusted, and so we did not trust them, but those who fought, those who put their lives on the line in the name of the tribe, they knew that each and every other tribesman would put his life on the line for them when the time came. I, myself, survived the battle with the giant lizards in no small part because my own tribesman fought to protect me. We guarded each other with our lives, and through this unity we survived. And I, as their leader, always knew it was my sacred duty to look after my tribe and to keep them safe.

The many months I spent alone in Earth’s docile wilderness did a lot to dull my senses and blur my responsibility, but I never forgot. I guess this is part of why I stood up for Malcolm against the soldiers who wanted to kill him. In some strange way, I felt a connection to him, and so, I felt obligated to protect him. But it was more than that. Though he looked like a grown man, to me Malcolm felt very much like a lost child, alone in a hostile world. I have never had children of my own, and the mothers of my tribe never babied their own – as soon as they were able to walk, they were expected to pull their own weight. We trained our children to survive from a young age, because it was the only way. But with Malcolm, it was different. With Malcolm, I felt... I don’t know. I felt like I wanted to protect him. Even though he was week, even though he should have been able to take care of himself. Against all of my senses, I felt that I wanted to protect him from his own weakness.

I guess that’s why I waited for him in the Hospital when all my instincts told me to leave. I had already wasted my time and energy fighting a pointless fight I had no business getting involved in, and I had saved a man whom I owed nothing to. I had already gone so far out of my way out of some strange, awkward fascination, but even now that it was done and I wanted to leave... I still couldn’t. I guess I just wanted to be sure he was OK, to see him leave this odd place, this hospitality... Hospital, whatever. So I waited.

It was not a very pleasant wait, either. I was not used to being around this many strange people, and it was unnerving. I trusted my tribe and my tribe only. For some foolish reason, I trusted Malcolm, as well. But I did NOT trust any of the little people scurrying around the tunnels and chambers of that place. A few times these... Doctors, were they? They came to me and tried to tell me something. Malcolm explained that they wanted to look at my wounds, though they had almost stopped bleeding, but I wasn’t about to let strangers anywhere near me. I did as Malcolm asked me, and I did nothing to harm the little people, but I’m old enough to know there are more ways to keep foes at bay than outright violence. Any man who has ever faced down a giant bladed ape knows just how powerful a fearsome stare can be, and though few live to learn from this experience, I have. And, really, the people of Earth are so skittish it really doesn’t take much to startle them, especially considering I’m considerably larger than even the strongest of their kind.

It was a few hours before Malcolm came back from his, err... Opera... Operation... Opening... Something like that. Whatever those doctor people were doing to him to patch up his wound. Many times since, I’ve been told I should have been amazed that a man shot in the gut could so much as walk so soon afterwards, but from where I’m standing I wanted to slap him upside the head for being such a wimp as to go down from a single injury like that. I took several of the same shots in the gut and yet I carried his sorry hide for 50 miles. And did I complain? Hell no! So why should I be impressed that he is barely stumbling along after being shot once?

I think he was very surprised to see me still waiting there. I was surprised I stayed. I have to say, waiting in that little corner, surrounded by all these strange people was one of the worst experiences I have ever been through that didn’t include grievous bodily harm. Malcolm came out with three of those doctor people following him, tugging and pulling at him. He said they wanted him to stay for some reason I don’t remember, but he told me he was in danger, and that the men who had tried to kill him in the forest would be back to try again, and he couldn’t stay in the hospitality for long. I really hate it when he does that. He was in trouble, and I knew that if I left him alone, he would probably die. The soldiers I’d fought in the forest weren’t very strong individually, but if they struck at him at the hospitality... Wait, no. Hospital. Hospital, damn it! If they struck at him in the hospital, then all the skittish people in there wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop them.

So I didn’t think I had a choice. Malcolm was in trouble, and I felt like I was the only one who could protect him. So help me, I don’t know why I felt that way. I still don’t. He was weak and helpless. If this had been back home, I would have left him on the spot. But I didn’t. I’d known the man for all of two days, and yet somehow I trusted him. I cared about him. I... I don’t know if I ever cared about anyone before in my life. Back home we trusted each other, but that was based on pure utility. Each person needed the strength in numbers that the tribe provided, but no-one was ever really attached to anyone else. We shared a tribe. Nothing more, nothing less.

I guess Malcolm always had that effect, and not just on me. The things he said, the things he did, he just... Inspired me. He always did that. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be living in that forest, just passing the time, but he made me feel like I was needed. And I guess I just cared about him. For the life of me, I’ll never understand why. He was such a whiny, annoying, pathetic man whom I always had to look after like he were a little lost child, always getting into trouble and always relying on ME to get him out of it! Ooh! I wanted to kill him so many times it’s actually kind of scary to think about it now, just out of all the messes he dragged me into! But... At the same time, when it came down to it, I would fight for him and pull his sorry hide out of the fire again and again. It’s... Really embarrassing to think about it now, how much I went along with his craziness, but I did. And even though I’m ashamed to admit it, I... I actually kind of enjoyed it.

Life with Malcolm was always exciting, I guess. Even as soon as we left the Hospi... Tal? As soon as we left the hospital, we were attacked. I guess he was right that the soldiers from the forest were after him. Except this was no man that attacked us, but some kind of giant beast, tall as a spirit bear and made of some kind of metal. It was armed with weapons like those the soldiers had carried, only they were bigger and even more deadly. Luckily, though, the metals on Earth turned out to be quite fragile, at least as compared to what I had been used to. See, back home we had almost no metal tools, and the ones we did have were rare treasures passed down through the generations, because working the material was so difficult. To make my own metal axe, I had to hunt down and slay one of the hideously dangerous iron golems in the lowlands, then carry the ore deep into the core of the iron mountains, as only there could I find enough heat to forge the weapon. And in all the years I’ve had it, it has never scratched or blemished.

The metals here, though? Bah! I’m told that giant thing... I think it was called a “robot” or something like that. That thing was supposed to be heavily armoured, or so I’m told. And, to be fair, it was pretty hard to cut through where the plates were thick, but simply aiming for the joints and swinging hard enough was sufficient to slice the thing apart. It made a lot of loud noises and pretty explosions, and it even managed to singe the right side of my face, as well as driving a few more shots into my arm, but those were all flesh wounds. I had used to deal with injuries like this all the time. What I did to it in return, though... That was not pretty. Hell, if I’d known it wasn’t actually alive at the time, I wouldn’t have held back as much as I did. I don’t tend to go all out on living things, because when they’re in pain or cornered, they tend to become REALLY dangerous.

Once the thing went down, Malcolm said we had to leave or more would find us. Since he couldn’t really walk so much as limp and wobble, I had to carry him. Again. I wanted to leave this Paragon City and go back to the wilderness where I felt the safest, but Malcolm pleaded with me to stay. He said he needed to expose these people and... Well, that’s about all I got. He talked about it a lot, something about evidence, conspiracies, kids napping... I think. I’m really not very good with the more complicated concepts of this world. I just don’t get them. Malcolm always used to handle the complicated things and make the plans. I just stuck to doing what I do best. Though, I guess I really should start learning these things for myself, now that... Ugh, I still can’t believe it... I don’t even want to think about it.

So, we stayed in the city. Malcolm told me he had a home in there somewhere. Turns out it was just a few small rooms in some building. And, you know, I really hate cities. I’ve been in a few, and I have no idea how people can live like this, cooped up in little boxes all the time. How can you live without seeing the sky, or without feeling the breeze? That doesn’t feel like home, it feels like a prison. We got into a big argument over this, actually. Well, it was more me grabbing him by the neck and lifting him into a wall when he suggested I live in that “apartment.” We found a solution, though – as he lived at the top of the building, we agreed that he could have his apartment, and I would live on the roof. It wasn’t idea – the noise of the city was horrible, the air always smelled foul and the distance was always obscured by ugly, unnatural buildings, but at least it was better than living trapped inside a stone box day in and day out.

And so I spent a few more months of my life. Malcolm stayed in his little home below, working on his vendetta against the men who shot him and I spent my days looking up into the sky, practicing my techniques and training up my body. During my time here on Earth, I’d grown soft and weak, getting used to the easy life without constant danger. I was slow and sloppy, which is why I’d suffered so much injury in my fight with the men in the forest. I was just out of shape. I wasn’t going to allow this to happen again. Really, though, since I couldn’t exactly hunt for food in the city, I had a lot of time on my hands, and I didn’t know of too many ways to keep busy. And the fool in the city was revolting. I have no idea what people here did to “prepare” it, but they just destroyed the meat in doing so. Eventually, Malcolm ended bargaining with some hunters, I think, to get their catch whole so I could cook it for myself. Truth be told, I we rarely had the opportunity to actually cook our meat back home, but when we always did when we could, so that, at least, was some small measure of comfort I had in this weird city.

Of course, it wasn’t all boring like that. I don’t know what Malcolm was doing, but he had to leave our home often, to get pictures of things, I think. As I understood it, he was a journal... No... Journalism... Journeyman... Journalist! That’s it! He was a Journalist, and he was working on some sort of story about these men. So, occasionally we would have to go to all manner of weird places, and he would get pictures... I mean, take pictures of... Well, things. I honestly don’t know what he was doing. However, I do know that almost every time we left together, he got in trouble and I ended up fighting with more of those soldiers. One time we went into this strange building, he took a few pictures of the weird machines inside, and then suddenly this loud wailing started and armed men came out of everywhere. I think I cut down 50 of the on our way out and finally had to kick through a really thick wall. I was pulling bullets out of my back for a week, and trust me – that is NOT pleasant.

And even when he didn’t get me into this absurd situations, we’d get attacked by soldiers just walking down the street. A vehicle... Was it? A vehicle would stop, soldiers would jump out and we would take off running. They even came to the apartment a few times, but it was pretty funny, because the tight quarters there did NOT do large groups of invading men any favours. That, and kicking the bastards over the edge of the roof was actually pretty funny. It’s always amazing to me how fragile people are here. Back home, our, ugh... Gravity? Yeah, our gravity was a LOT stronger than what you have here, and we were still pretty nimble. Here, I can leap great distances if I put my mind to it, and I certainly wouldn’t hurt myself dropping off the top of a small building, but these men really went splat. Well, serves ‘em right, far as I’m concerned. Even if I have developed more of a respect for the individual human life, I have a really hard time respecting people who want to kill me.

Honestly, though, for all the unpleasant stuff that Malcolm kept dragging me through, I can’t say I really regret these times. It was... Actually a lot of fun. Which was a really strange experience to me at the time. I was used to fighting for my survival and not caring about anything else, like any wild beast. I lived with other people, but we were never close, not beyond needing each other’s help to survive. Enjoying myself was never really something I was even aware was possible. But here... Here I had someone to talk to. And even though he was maddeningly annoying, I... I kind of liked speaking with Malcolm. All my life I’d lived so focused on survival I might as well have been blind, but he opened a whole new world to me. Malcolm was a dreamer, always seeing the world not for what it was, but for what it could be. He could see the beauty in life in a way that I just couldn’t even imagine. He opened my eyes, and he opened my mind, and I could never, ever repay him for it.

When I first met Malcolm, I was little more than an animal – strong and proud, but also blind and feral. I didn’t want anything more than to survive one more day, because I simply didn’t know there was anything more to want. Even now, I’m not sure I understand all of what Malcolm has told me over the years, but I remember one thing – his approach to everything. He took on the world with hope and a smile, even though he was weak, even though he was powerless. He dared to dream and dared to imagine. Just being with him and watching him work, I guess I found a little bit of hope for myself. It was Malcolm who showed me that that there is more to life, more to look forward to and want, than just what we see, if only we just try hard enough.

And that is what made it so much fun. I enjoyed watching him work, and I enjoyed seeing him make a difference. He was just one man, alone in this big world, and yet his actions still mattered. And even though I always wanted to punch him for being so reckless and always getting us in trouble... I kind of liked that, as well. There was just something so... Enjoyable in protecting him. It made me feel so strong and important, but more than that, it just made me feel... Good. I knew Malcolm relied on me completely. He trusted me with his life, and he trusted that whenever trouble came, I would be there to save him. That kind of trust can be strangely intoxicating, I’ve found. Far from feeling I am being used, I always felt like I wanted to be there for him, my precious, fragile little man, to protect him from harm. To fight for him. And he, in turn, stood up for me and guided me through this strange, complicated world.

We lived together in this strange way for some time, and though the weakness of humanity on Earth still disgusted me, little by little I got used to Malcolm’s weakness. Far from being the eyesore I had seen it as at first, it became strangely charming, almost addictive. To protect him... To save him... My poor little Malcolm. And in time, this relationship would only deepen.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Arcanaville Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.

Life

You know, sometimes it feels so surreal how much my life has changed since I came here. There are days when I wake up and wonder if what I remember from my home really happened, or if it was just some strange, frightening dream. It feels like a lifetime has passed since I first set foot on this calm, gentle world, and so much has changed since then. So much... I used to find the so many things strange, used to distrust people and keep away from them. Now... Now it feels like home, like I had always been here. Many things still annoy me, sure, like the incessant noise of the city and the constant need to deal with irritating people. But... In some strange way, I guess I grew attached to all this, to the good and the bad.

Back when I first came to this world 10 years ago, all I wanted was to get away from the hardship of survival and to get away from my responsibilities of a tribe leader. The freedom and calm of Earth’s wilderness captivated me. Now, though... I’ve tried to leave the city before, to escape back into the wild and forget the troubles I had, but it just never works. The forest is just too quiet. Too calm. Too lonely. Once, long ago, I thought that that was all I ever wanted, but... I guess I got used to Malcolm’s crazy world. Got used to Malcolm. I... Don’t remember what I wanted any more, but it’s just not the same without him. It will never be.

And the ironic thing is I still HATE it! It still bugs me to have to deal with people all the time, it still bugs me to always be listening to vehicles and wailing sirens and thousands of people talking, to have to walk around that depressing landscape of ugly buildings. I still love open spaces and the look and feel of the forest, but... When I leave the city, when I go back to what I like, it feels somehow... Lonely. Like something is missing. I know I should feel good, I know this is where I belong, but I can never shake the feeling that something isn’t right. I guess I’m too used to this city now, for better or worse.

This has been happening for the past 10 years, ever since I dragged Malcolm’s sorry hide to the hospital, and then back to his apartment. We spent all of our time together, he doing his work against the bad men who shot him and I keeping myself in shape. We helped each other a lot. For instance, I taught him how to fight and defend himself. Well, he was always completely hopeless, but I managed to at least give him some confidence and a little bit of extra strength. Yeah, he was lazy and always ditched training, and I could never quite bring myself to punch him for his gall, but he did learn a fair bit anyway. In return, he taught me to speak English. See, at first he was the only person I could talk with, because he could read my mind and I didn’t speak the language. That was kind of a problem, since it meant I had to either avoid people or be with him all the time. But he worked with me, and I have to say he put a LOT of effort into getting me to speak well.

There is this... ANNOYING belief among people here that just because I come from a savage world without language or technology, I’m somehow stupid and not intelligent. Hell, there were even people who said I was too dumb to ever speak English. Well, not to my face, anyway, because the last man who said that to my face left with two broken teeth and a cracked rib. That, and a better understanding of when to open his mouth and when not to. The nerve of these people! Well, I showed them! I managed to just about master the language in only a couple of years, and though I’m still kind of struggling to write and I forget words occasionally, I think I’m pretty good. Really, it’s not that hard, it just takes practice, tenacity and a good teacher. And Malcolm was a very good teacher.

See, that’s the thing about Malcolm which I could never understand. He’s a wimp, lazy as a rock, incredibly whiny and a mouth on him that could throw a giant sloth turtle into a towering rage. And believe me, that’s saying something. Yet at the same time, he is so... Strong, I don’t know how else to say it. When Malcolm is inspired he is truly amazing. He speaks with such power and passion, he acts with such courage and strength... Trust me – I’m not weak and I am definitely not looking for a big strong man to look after me like so many shallow women in this world, but when Malcolm gets on a roll, he feels like he’s 10 feet tall and as strong as the mountains. Even in my darkest hours, even when I felt like giving up, like there was no point going on, he was there for me, and his words gave me strength. Alone, I may have been strong, but the truth is I was just a lost woman in a foreign world. With Malcolm, I was so much stronger.

Really, though, a lot of that was due to the fact that he was so weak and fragile. Malcolm was like a little dog – always brave and aggressive, but with almost no bite to back it up. He got himself into trouble all the time, both from criminals and from the various monsters on this world, and it always fell to me to pull his hide out of the fire. I’ve wanted to give up the fight, to just turn around and run from a hopeless battle so many times. But I knew Malcolm was in trouble, that his life depended on me and me alone. It’s amazing what you can make your body do when you quite simply have no choice. It didn’t matter if I was tired, injured or afraid. I had no choice.

And so we spent our years together, always engaging in what eventually turned into a game. After Malcolm exposed the men he was after and had them taken care of, he didn’t stop. He made it his mission to do the same to all evil in the world. When he finished dealing with one evil, he went on looking for another. When his employers kicked him out, he went looking for another job. Even when the world told him to stop, to let it go, to just calm down and live a peaceful life, he wouldn’t listen. Always pushing, always working towards a world where evil didn’t exist, and people didn’t have to worry about being killed, robbed or threatened. I never understood his vision, though. I just played along because I just knew he’d get in over his head and need rescuing. And so we played our little game – he would always try to convince me to be more idealistic, I would try to convince him to be a bit more practical, even though he kept missing his training.

At one point, Malcolm managed to convince me to get my own Hero ID. It’s this little card thing here. I honestly have no idea how this whole setup works, and truth be told I don’t really make much use of it. I try to be self-sufficient, so I don’t like depending on other people for help and supplies. I did meet a lot of these so-called heroes afterwards, though. And let me tell you – I was not impressed. Half of them had egos bigger than the gods, themselves, and the rest had some kind of tragic, sappy back-story that they constantly whine and moaned about. “Oh, no, I lost my parents!” Big deal! My mother died giving birth to me, my father was eaten by a 50-foot-long alligator and my entire people were slaughtered by giant lizards. Do you see me wallowing in self-pity? Ugh! And you know what the worst part is? A lot of those heroes are incredibly more powerful than me. Seriously, I’ve lost count on all the gods walking the Earth these days, and STILL all they know to do is mope and mourn. Is it any wonder I’m so pissed off at how weak this world is?

Oh, but that’s not even the best part! See, apparently being a strong, tall woman makes me some sort of an achievement in this world. So, I keep getting these annoying, pestering heroes always coming over and trying to woo me. Who do these people think they are? What, just because you have a square jaw and big muscles I’m supposed to swoon and fall for you? Get real! Hell, I’m taller AND stronger than most of these, but even when I’m not, they’re aren’t attractive. They’re just obnoxious. You cannot believe how much trouble I’ve gotten into over this. Who knew someone with the name “Super Invulnerable Man” would have a weak jaw, anyway?

Though, honestly, I kind of enjoyed all of their feeble efforts. Not because I liked it, oh no, but I just loved how steamed Malcolm would get when he watched some random man in tights trying to hit on me. Now, on the one hand I’m not buying it at all. Heck, I’m trying my darnest not to punch him in the teeth. But on the other hand, I can see Malcolm in the background fuming, almost foaming at the mouth, ready to jump the guy. That was so funny to watch I couldn’t describe. Oh, he always had an excuse, like he wasn’t for me, or he had a criminal past (why do so many heroes have that?), or he was being a jerk. Mind you, for the most part he was right, but it felt nice to feel he was watching over me. OK, I admit, I know Malcolm liked me, and for all his eloquence and strength, he could never quite muster the balls to tell me to my face, so teasing him like that was probably not a very nice thing, but it he was so cute when he pouted. I don’t know why, it was just fun to watch him when he got really heated up. He was normally always so in control of himself, so I just like getting into his comfort zone a little bit from time to time.

Truth be told, I liked Malcolm, too. I could never really tell him that, myself, because I was never really sure if I saw him as a man or as a child. Oh, sure, in his upper 20s at the time, he was technically a man, but keep in mind – I was pushing 40, and I’d spent very much my entire time here looking after Malcolm, protecting him, cleaning up his messes and watching after him while he slept. I mean, literally – I had to stand watch at night because he made himself so many enemies. He was really cute when he was asleep. He made that sweet baby face, and he was so vulnerable, so exposed. He was a heavy sleeper, too, not like my people back home. There, we all slept with one eye open, and only for short periods of time. With Malcolm, though, he could spend 8 hours asleep, barely moving a muscle, with his guard down completely. He trusted me with his life, and I just loved protecting him in return.

Sometimes I wonder what I look like when I’m asleep. Even here on Earth, I never really slept very long at a time, usually half-hour to one-hour naps dispersed throughout the day. A few times I got injured so bad I slept for days at a time, but that tends to happen when doctors tell you you’re not going to survive that kind of wound. They were wrong, of course, but it was still very serious. I think I slept for a couple of days straight, something like that. When I woke up, I saw Malcolm sitting next to me, just looking at him sleep. He didn’t look like he had shaved in a while, so I suspect he’d just been looking after me the whole time. He denied it, of course, but he’s just hopeless when he tries to lie to me. I can tell at a glance. But you know what? I can’t say I disliked it. I was so helpless at the time, but it just... Felt good to have Malcolm watch over me. Oh, sure, I knew he wouldn’t be able to actually fight for me, but that didn’t matter. I trusted him, and I didn’t mind being helpless in his care. It’s kind of scary when I think back to it now, but even so... I kind of enjoyed it.

We grew very close over the years, Malcolm and I. But more than that, I was changing, little by little. I began to laugh more – something I had almost never done back home. And not always at funny things, either. Sometimes life just felt so good I wanted to laugh out of joy. Games were unheard of back home. No-one ever had time for such things. But here, I enjoyed our little games. They weren’t anything complicated. We just knew each other well enough to be playful just in our day-to-day routines. I just got so used to having fun, even over little things. But more than anything else, I just enjoyed Malcolm’s company. Back home, even with the entire tribe together, I had never really felt good to be around other people. We helped each other, we fought together, and that was it. With Malcolm, it was different. With him, I just enjoyed being with him, even when I didn’t really need him right then and there.

Those were the best days of my life. At the time, it felt like everything was right in the world, like nothing could ever go wrong. If only I’d known...

Quote:

Originally Posted by Arcanaville Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.