One Day, Forty Nights

Contents

Chapter One

Depressed and Drunk

Chapter Two

A Slut, Thugs, Cops, and Love

Chapter Three

My Kitten

Chapter Four

Unwelcome Surprises

Chapter Five

The Worst Day

Chapter Six

Utter Confusion

Chapter Seven

Visitors

Chapter Eight

New Life

Chapter Nine

Night to Day

Chapter Ten

Heroic Beginnings

Chapter Eleven

A Hero Returns

Chapter Twelve

Run Away, Love

Chapter Thirteen

A New Man

Chapter Fourteen

History Lesson

Chapter Fifteen

A Cruel Mistress

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue for My Daughter

Chapter One

______________________

Depressed and Drunk

After one bottle, nothing happens. After a second bottle, again, nothing happens. After a third, the pain goes away. After a fourth, the memories go away. After a fifth, the depression grows. After a sixth, the anger resurfaces. After a seventh, the rage lashes out. Bottles of hundred-proof liquor: the only friends I have left.

I stare out into the lively bar. There are patrons all around drinking, smoking, dancing, and being merry. Most have come for a night out of the house. Others have just gotten off work. Maybe even a few just happened to wander in from the streets outside. I keep to myself in the far back corner of the bar. If someone comes up to me, I don’t look like much. I keep my hood up, covering most of my face, and stick to the shadows of the bar. I prefer to be left alone. I haven’t come here to pick up girls, drink with friends, or meet new people. I have come here to drink my pains away.

All the happiness I recently gained in my life is gone. Just think. A month ago, I was the happiest man alive. I had spent my life on a rocky bottom of heartache and anguish. But then, it all came together. The bliss I wanted so badly was awarded to me. And just as quickly as it came, it was robbed from me. Now, I’m in this bar to drown the memory of my sins.

Pass me another drink, you swine. I need more alcohol! a drunken man shouts at the counter. I’m losing my buzz!

I think you have had enough to drink, sir, replies the bartender calmly. Can I offer you something else? Maybe some water?

What did you say to me, you fucking bastard? Do you know who I am? I am a sergeant in the army! I am the biggest badass motherfucker out there! I don’t like you saying I have had too much to drink! Now give me some more beer before I make you! the man yells right back.

I have seen this scenario too many damn times. I think if I try to count the times, my head will implode. It is always guy walks into bar, gets a drink, and then another, and then another, and then another. After a few moments or so, he can’t even stand up straight. He is too shit-faced to act like his usual self, so he turns into a raging drunk who thinks he can hold more liquor and take on the world. What a piece of shit.

Please, sir, I must protest this action. Please calm down, sir, responds the bartender.

I have had enough of your tone, you fucker! Give me my beer! the man yells with a growing rage. Or else the biggest badass motherfucker that I am is going to kick your ass!

Who the hell does this asshole think he is? Only standing around five feet tall, he doesn’t look like the biggest badass motherfucker to me. I think he is more like a mini asshole. With his wrinkled face, bald head, and tan skin, I don’t think he is the badass of anything. Well, maybe he is the biggest badass of the ugly bastards, and he fucks mothers. His attitude probably comes from his military uniform. The military force of this place is mainly made up of marines with swamp camouflage and black helmets that cover their faces. Only the officers are different. Most of the officers look similar to this asshole. They usually wear a gray shirt with red stripes across the collar, gray pants, and knee-high riding boots. He must think he is a real hard-core soldier. Maybe he led a squad and found some of the rebels or something. Looking at the increasing redness in his face, I’d say he has a small fuse. Seems to me most of the military assholes that run this planet have short fuses. Any moment now, he will be reaching for that blaster in his holster, and then shit will fly.

Now the bartender wants to convince the man that he has had too much to drink and needs to quit. He may ask the guy if he would like some coffee, or maybe something to eat or God knows what. But usually, he’ll get the same response from the asshole. Oh, I don’t want coffee, I want beer or Don’t tell me what to do, you shit-head. Then the blaster comes out, and the drunk feels in control. I know this bartender from the times I have come in here, and he does have some patience, but when you threaten him, you will pay for sure.

Sir, may I suggest some coffee? We brew some fine coffee here, the bartender offers and reaches for the coffeepot.

Coffee? Coffee is for cock-sucking faggots! Give me another alcoholic drink or I’ll blast ya! the officer barks in anger and pushes the coffeepot away from the bartender.

I hate it when I’m right. Right on cue, the drunk reaches for his blaster. The bastard pulls out his pistol and aims it right at the bartender’s head. The Odvidian bartender, Hoargele, has had about enough of this military son of a bitch from the looks of it. He just stares down the barrel of the blaster. His three green eyes stare into the eyes of the soldier. His square face shows no fear, and not even sweat appears on his black, scaly skin. He rests his seven arms he uses to serve drinks on the counter of the bar and waits for the man, now covered in sweat, to make a move. But what this officer fuck doesn’t know, or I hope he figures out real fucking quickly, is that Odvidians have eight arms. Knowing Hoargele, he has his blaster in his eighth arm, already cocked and loaded.

Hoargele is a decent guy from what I hear. He wasn’t born here, but he came to this world when he was very young, and it’s been the only home he has known. Ever since the world has been taken over by new management, Hoargele has been helping the resistance. He mainly provides inside information for them, and every once in a while he helps out in one of their raids. For a large brute, he is pretty sneaky. He’s a gentle giant to many, but to those marines, he’ll kill them if he gets the chance. Martial law has been in effect for a while, so he doesn’t have to worry about any trouble from the cops.

The band stops playing as all the patrons of the bar watch and wait for one of the two to act. The soldier fires a shot and hits Hoargele square in the face. The shot deflects off the scales of the bartender and shatters a bottle of some kind of alien liquor. Hoargele sneers as he pulls out his blaster. The guy just stands there, too shit-faced and shocked that the armored scales of the Odvidian deflected the shot. The man squeaks out wait just before Hoargele fires his blaster.

The blaster bolt screams forward and slams into the sweaty face of the soldier. The shot cuts through his skin effortlessly. I watch as his nose starts to spread open, exposing the inner flesh of his nose. The blaster bolts Odvidians have are amazing. The opening continues to expand, causing his eyes to slowly unravel from his eyelids. The bolt drills into his skull, and then the bastard’s head explodes. Small chunks of brain fly to the far corners of the bar. A piece even lands on my table. I look back to the man and see what is left of his face. Everything above his lower jawbone is gone, except for a half-fried eyeball hanging off to the side by his optic nerve. His body, lifeless and soaking in the now gushing blood from his neck, sways back and forth for a couple of seconds. Finally, his body gives way, and he collapses onto the counter. Blood flows from his neck and spreads out over the countertop like a flood.

Shit, now I have to clean this asshole up, laughs the bartender as he slams a wet rag onto the counter.

I can’t really say I feel sorry for the bastard. He had it coming, working for the government and all. Hoargele starts to clean up the mess, and everybody else goes back to their drinks. The band picks up with their mellow music. The patrons pick up their conversations, go back to smoking their cigarettes, and carry on with their drinking. I look back down at my empty glass, still savoring the taste of the brew it once had. I continue to stare as a cute waitress walks by and fills it with a neon blue drink. My eyes peer up to see her ass swaying left and right as she walks away. I take the glass back into my hands and look around the bar. Humans, aliens, robots, you name it; they are all there. People are talking, laughing, arguing, and having a grand time. I even see two alien chicks making out with their tongues wrapped around each other’s. It’s just strange looking because their tongues happen to be on their foreheads. Damn, that is freaky, but I do admit, it looks like they are enjoying it.

Man, why in the hell am I on this shit-hole of a planet? Shaking my head in disgust, I place a cigarette on my lips. I lean back and search for my matches. A waitress stops in front of my table and extends a lighter. With a flick of her thumb, a blue flame bursts out of the chamber. I light up my cigarette and take a deep puff. I flip her a coin and exhale as I watch her walk away. Now I can get back to my sad life, and to me recounting how I ended up here.

I guess my plummet into this depressing exile that is my life started thirty-eight days ago. For the last thirty-eight days now, I have been creeping closer and closer to my impending demise. For starters, my lover, my soul mate, my entire reason for living, is dead. That is enough to cripple any man. Now let’s add my faith in humanity being nonexistent, my soul hardened and rotten, and my life becoming a shattered mess, instead of the heavenly bliss it once was only weeks before. Then, last but not least, my family has deserted me and tossed me out on my ass. Pretty much everything I have cherished is gone too, for that matter. The only thing I have now is the burning alcohol destroying my insides, the smoke that eats away my lungs from my cigarettes, and my hoped-for soon-to-be death. My ship slumbers in the muddy swamp with a full tank of fuel, but without a willing pilot, she is doomed to rot in the muck.

She is quite the ship, my baby is. Her twin hyperdrive engines are attached under the wings, at the far ends of her twenty-foot wingspan. Her sleek wings curve outward, like the crest of the moon, to the frame of her body. The body looks a lot like a large, silver raindrop. The largest end of the raindrop connects to the wings, while the rest of her stretches out behind them. The armored hull that covers her entire body is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. The cockpit is located on the top of the ship, in the center of her wingspan, and is covered by a glass shield. Behind the wings, in the rest of the body, are a cabin and a small cargo hold. My cabin is made up of a bed, a small kitchen, and an even smaller bathroom.

She is a fighter-based ship. She is much smaller than the average frigate, but doubles the size of most fighters around. But even for being a smaller craft, she packs quite a punch with her dual laser cannons. Each cannon is locked underneath each wing, on each side of the body. A proton-torpedo launcher is attached at each end of the wings for an extra punch if needed. Along with her two-layered plasma shields and strong armored hull, my fighter can take on the biggest of cruisers. It is unwise to take on my ship. But she means nothing now, especially with me on this rock.

I guess I have come to this god-awful place to die, plain and simple. This alcohol is getting me rather drunk, but not drunk enough. It seems I have picked the perfect place to succumb to my destruction. I have only been on this shit-hole for a couple of weeks now, and I know pretty much all about it. This shit-hole, which I like to call it, is called Bactiwa. It is the only habitable planet in the Leckta system. Pretty much the whole planet is swampland, but there is a small city here, a settlement there, and then the capital, Lugna, smack dab in the middle. The whole planet is run from the capital by an evil dictator that, strangely enough, nobody knows the name of. There are no laws except for whatever the dictator comes up with. If you piss him off, you’ll find yourself facedown somewhere in the swamp or worse. If you say the wrong thing, you’ll find yourself beaten to a bloody pulp, or even toppling over the giant waterfall outside the walls around the city. This new dictator has turned the planet into a vile rock where anyone can cheat, steal, and kill anyone they want to. It’s my kind of place since I’m waiting for my life to end.

The people say that he took the throne about a year ago and forced out the gentle royalty that ruled the planet. The former Bactian government has been banished to the surrounding swamps, and barely escaped the following genocide. In the swamps today, the Bacts struggle to form some sort of a resistance and wage war to claim their planet back. The Bactian Rebels have been fighting for a lost cause, it would seem, for a few months now. They use guerrilla warfare and terrorist tactics on the dictator’s government buildings and military targets. They have a few holdouts that they control, but the government marines continue to hunt them down without mercy. It is like there is an endless swarm of marines at the dictator’s disposal. Without assistance, the Bactian Rebels will soon run out of luck and be annihilated.

Where does a man who wants his pathetic existence to end fit into all of this mess? He is just a bystander amid the misery, waiting for the end to come. I know killing myself would solve my problems, but a foolish promise long ago keeps me from that option. It isn’t an option to ask some random prick to put me out of misery either. I promised I would die with honor, fighting for what is right, or sacrificing myself for those I love. But fuck that. I am a guy lacking honor, a pitiable man with nothing left. That fucking promise was the worst thing ever for me to agree to. All the clowns on this rock can’t fight worth a shit. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a skilled competitor to vanquish me and slay me.

What was I talking about before? Oh yeah. I landed onto this cesspool, abandoned my ship in the swamp, and claimed a derelict, run-down outpost in the trees as my asylum. I thought I would be alone to decompose, and I could continue to fall deeper into my depression, but I was mistaken. Only days after the outpost had been repaired, a skirmish flared up between the Bacts and the marine army. Men fought and fell all around the useless tree house. The bastards thought my asylum was some sort of strategic landmark when it was fixed. I threw myself into the battle and shot my way through both lines to defend my place of exile. The lust for bloodshed and the rage that fueled my body was stopped by no man. I must have slaughtered at least twenty on both sides. I even executed a general for the marine army and murdered a general of the Bacts at the end of the battle. Both sides soon found out that I was neutral, on my own dismal side, and to stay the fuck away from me. I declared that if anyone stepped into my part of the swamp, I would shoot them on sight. Now that some time has passed, both sides see me as an untrustworthy rogue with a death wish. My rage and combat have made me somewhat famous on the planet, but nobody knows me until they have a knife in their throat, or their head blown off. The Bacts still have this thought of me leading them back to glory. I don’t fucking care about their fight. I just want to be left alone.

The Bacts, those rebellious fucks, continue to fight and find ways to be slaughtered. Worst of all, they beg me to lead them. I’m no hero for them. They tell me, Help us, Wobert. You are our savior. Fate has sent you here to purge the evil from our planet. I don’t care how many legends they speak of about a great liberator that comes to save their people. It seems to me, the whole situation with the Bacts started when I landed here. On my first night on this hell, I met a young boy named Mabu. He found me entangled in a spiderweb. I had gotten myself trapped in the web because of the fact that I was wandering through the swamp drunk off my ass and sobbing like an infant. I would have been spider chow if it wasn’t for Mabu. Boy, I hate those eight-legged bastards; fucking spiders. He sat with me over the next few nights in the bar, bought me drinks when I threatened to leave, watched me succumb to the madness of my depression, and listened to the sad story that is my life. The stories of past adventures and glory sparked in his young mind. Soon enough, he thought I was the savior for his people. Hearing the stories of my adventures and my conquests of evil had rattled his little mind. He believed that I was the hero sent to save his brothers-in-arms and to stop the travesty happening on his planet. He wanted me to be the hero to fight for the good of his people, to defeat the evil of his home, and be the knight I once was. Nice fucking try. Damn it, I need a refill. Oh, thank you, babe.

He tried to convince me to fight the good fight, the righteous fight once again, but he was too late. I had already totally turned my back to the universe when he found my sad ass. All I want to do is drink my sorrows away. On the last night we talked, he begged me to fight. When he grabbed my shoulder to stop me from leaving, I almost killed him on the spot. I felt the fear in his eyes when I grasped his throat and slammed one of my pistols into his mouth. But I spared him. I banished him from me; I never wanted to see him again. Once in a while, though, I hear Mabu calling and looking for me, begging me to join the fight. I will not do it. The last time I helped people, I soon called them my family, and then I was thrown out like garbage. I’m never going through that again.

Well, look at this. While I have been recalling the last hellish days I have been through, a small, frog-headed alien has seated himself at my table. He eyes the piece of brain that still lies on the table, and then looks up to me. We trade stares. With a quick flick of his tongue, he swoops up the piece of brain and eats it. He chews it for a moment and then gives me a big smile as he shallows. He looks like a bunch of pieces of shit I used to live with on an icy hell. I hate frog-headed people. That is a memory for another time, though. I glare over at him in disgust, wanting the alien to leave, but he just sits there, staring back. Leave now, fucker.

Do you mind, buddy? I’m trying to have a drink to myself, I mutter toward the frog in a soft voice.

I try to usher him to leave with my glances, but he stays and does nothing. He just watches me with his large eyes. What the hell is his deal? Is he slow in the head or something? I wave my hand in the air, in front of his massive eyes, but nothing. Asshole must be a few stars short of a nebula. I guess he is not moving without force. My hand moves up my side, under my cloak, and touches one of my holstered pistols. This prick will be leaving me whether he likes it or not in a second, be it by his own strength or a body bag.

Suddenly, a tall, female alien approaches. Her long black hair is wrapped around her head and reveals her young face. Her skin is a smooth pale green. Looking by the tight leather she wears, and the zipper that runs up her chest, she is looking for more than a drink. She is looking for some action. I know the type of action she wants; maybe this frog prick doesn’t. It is definitely action I want nothing to do with.

Looking to rub these babies? the woman asks in a seductive voice.

The instant the words slip off her lips, she pulls down the zipper on her leather top and exposes her perky breasts. She is an Idian, and her prized breasts are known throughout the galaxy. Those radiant breasts, with all their reputation and prestige, are flawless. They look so great, any man would want to kiss and shove his face into them, but they have no effect on me. I have seen these girls whoring themselves out many times before. Maybe this prick doesn’t know their secret agenda. Oh boy, I hope he doesn’t.

No, thank you, babe, but my friend would love to. Hell, I’ll pay for the first five minutes, I state, and wink to the frog.

Even the stupidest and thickest man can’t pass up a quick fondle of a woman’s breasts; especially from the large-busted woman in front of us. The frog smiles and spreads his legs. The Idian straddles his lap and then arches her back. Her breasts reach up toward his eyes like two mountains to the heavens. She rhythmically begins to grind her hips on his lap. He cups her breasts and quickly starts to rub them in a clockwise motion. The frog’s eyes roll back in his head as his hands work faster. The girl enjoys the feeling of her breasts being groped. She wants this, but for a reason the frog doesn’t know, I bet. He lets out a sigh as he gets off from the feel of her breasts and the grinding of her hips. I watch as his rubbing starts to cause the woman’s breasts to lactate and leak moisture from her nipples. Soon this prick will learn the Idian’s secret.

He continues to rub faster, to rub harder, and more moisture leaks from her breasts. The nipples secrete their precious secret, and it soon covers the frog’s hands. After a moment, the frog starts to wince as pain quickly encompasses his arms. I guess he can tell by now that the moisture from her lovely nipples isn’t sweat or milk, but is acid. His eyes become fully wide while the three fingers on each of his hands dissolve. Even a little green smoke spews from his fingers as they bubble and fizzle. Inch by inch, his fingers and his knuckles melt away. They turn to a milky skin-cream that pours down into a glass cup the Idian has placed on the table. I have almost forgotten how strong the acid the Idian breasts secrete really is.

The frog’s arms continue to dissolve until only his flailing elbows remain. He can’t take the pain anymore and runs out of the bar screaming for help. The bar isn’t fazed one bit. I chuckle as the prick tries to wave the small nubs that are the leftovers of his arms. I knew the fucker would be getting the fuck away from me. A flap of half-dissolved skin has missed the glass and rests on the edge of the table. The Idian scoops it up and slurps it into her mouth like a noodle. While savoring the taste of skin, she raises the glass of goo. After giving me a wink, she chugs down the smoothielike drink. She zips up her top and holds out her hand. I toss her a coin for the effort, and she walks off. Who knows what kind of action she looks for now?

After finishing the rest of my drink, I slam the glass down on the table. The same cute waitress from earlier walks up again and starts to fill my glass from a pitcher of beer. I wave her off and toss her a coin. She grins at me and turns around. She asks me if I want some extra attention while she shows me her small buttocks. I tilt my head a little to take a peek up her skirt and damn, it is a lovely sight. Fluffy white panties presiding under her black skirt beg to me to be pulled off, but no woman can warm my black heart. I shake my head no and gesture her to leave me. After letting out a sigh, she skips away in her heels.

I walk slowly toward the exit of the bar, a little too drunk for my own good, and toss a coin to Hoargele. He is still busy cleaning up the mess that was the military asshole. I step outside to the colorfully lit mist above the boardwalk. Drops of rain fall through the neon lights and the smutty advertisements that litter the boardwalk. It is raining heavily, and the streets have started to flood. I chuckle to myself because the whores on the corner stand soaking wet, and I don’t mean sexually. After scratching a stick-match on my beard, I light up another cigarette. A few puffs on the cigarette later, I wave the match out and depart for home.

While walking down the sidewalk, I bump into a bumbling alien. He yells out some gibberish and starts to walk off. I fling up my hand and give him the gesture to fuck off. Suddenly, he lets out a grunt, turns around, and swings for my head. I duck under his fist and take the dagger from his boot. Stepping behind him as he stumbles forward, I raise the dagger up and jam it into the back of his neck. Blood gushes from the wound, and his arms frail around, trying to pull out the dagger. I step back and watch the alien dance around in a circle while he fails to retrieve the dagger. I punch the fat fucker in his trunk of a nose, and he tumbles backward. My punch sends him into the wall of a building so hard the dagger slices fully through his neck, and the tip pierces through the front of his throat. The fucker collapses against the wall, and his blood begins to spills everywhere. With a final gasp, the alien keels over and splashes into the gutter. I look on in disgust, and then notice my cigarette has lost its flame during the scuffle. I strike up another match off my chin and relight it. I turn around to two glaring hookers.

Guess you’ll have to find a corner with less blood, darlings, I holler over to them while I look at the blood pooling toward them.

He must have been their pimp or something. Good riddance, in my opinion. They glare at me, and then down to the lifeless bastard that twitches a little. I give them a smirk, to their disliking. They turn their heads in disgust and scamper off. I return to my walk down the street, with my head hanging down and my cloak slowly becoming soaked in the rain. I fucking hate the rain. Rain feels like small blaster bolts, plummeting down from the sky, crashing onto you, and cutting through your soul. It reminds me of the layers and layers of pain I carry on my shoulders. Both the rain and the layers of pain push down on your shoulders with such pressure and abuse. The longer it rains, the longer the rain abuses you, pounds on you, and makes it easier for you to collapse and drown in the quicksand of self-destruction.

Seems for the last forty years, the rain has not stopped pounding me. It either rains like there is no tomorrow or it drizzles to the brink of stopping. Either way, the rain continues. There were times when it seemed like the rain would stop, but soon the rain starts up again, even heavier. It seems like my heart has become too heavy to stay afloat. The deeper I go and the more rain that falls, the more and more I drown in this depression. I feel like I’m on my last breath, and when my last breath finally succumbs to the muck, an evil insanity will consume me.

After continuing down the street for some time, I turn left into an alley. I can’t stand living or even walking in this city. The only reason I sneak into and out of this cesspool is to get my fix for booze and cigs. Every other night or so, I scale the massive walls that surround the city. There are two layers that form a square box around the city, with a no-man’s land in between the walls. Tall guard towers along the walls watch over no-man’s land, and they can be tough to sneak by; but I manage. The climb isn’t much easier, but for the alcohol I crave, it’s a journey I’m willing to make. I’d much rather prefer to have a bar in the swamp.

Down the alley I walk, passing some homeless bums standing by a garbage can they have lit ablaze. They glare at me, but know not to bother a man on his drunken march homeward. I turn another corner that leads to a dead end. There, still waiting for me, is my grappling hook. I check to make sure it is clear and then begin to scale the wall. Quickly I climb up the rope and then tumble over the top. I rappel down the other side into no-man’s land quickly so I’m not seen. I land on the ground and duck down into a grate to the drainage system under the city before the spotlights catch. After a short climb down a ladder, I come to a stop in an underground reservoir. I wade through the water and make my way to the tunnel that leads to the surrounding swamps.

After a few minutes of wading through the water, light begins filtering in at the end of the tunnel. I trek to the end until I am peering out and over the edge. I am about a couple hundred feet above the massive lake that rests under the city cliffs. The river that flows through the city empties into this lake from the cliffs a thousand feet above. The waterfall thunders and roars as the water tumbles downward next to me. This part is always risky, but who gives a shit? I take a deep breath and then leap off the tunnel edge.

I plummet through the misty fog from the waterfall. With a massive splash, I hit the lake. It is a short swim over to the muddy bank before I stumble ashore. The sun starts to set on the horizon, and that isn’t a good sign. Being out in the swamp after the sun goes down is a bad idea. The hunters and man-eaters of the swamp come out to play. After a good twenty minutes of walking in between the giant trees that are as tall as buildings, I finally get to the ladder that leads to my exile.

Being here for the last few weeks has been difficult and lonely, but this outpost in the trees is home. Everyone knows I live here, even though they don’t know who I am. Many call me the hermit of the swamp, but most of them are smart enough to leave me alone and not look for me. There is only one way up to the main part of the outpost, and that is the ladder that is built up the side of the monstrous tree. Up the three-hundred-or-so-foot ladder is the hatch to the tree house. I have the only key to the hatch I built, so I don’t get unexpected visitors. Luckily for me, the whole place is mostly hidden in the leaves from anybody who doesn’t know its exact location.

I have the bare necessities in the outpost. I have a small pantry, a battery-powered fridge, a bedroom, a living room, and a bathroom of sorts. The bathroom is pretty much a mirror nailed to a branch, a bucket for a sink, and a hole in a bench for the toilet. Not the prettiest thing in the world, but it does its duty. I bathe in the countless lakes and whenever I’m in the city. The bucket works well enough for me to freshen up. The place would be surprisingly comfortable for many. For me, it is my exile in the trees. I don’t know, but it seems I have a knack for finding abandoned outposts. The only problem with the place is the roof in the leaves. Every time it fucking rains, it leaks like a son of a bitch. I hate rain.

After the climb, I unlock the hatch and enter the dimming outpost. Shadows from the setting sun crawl across the floorboards before me. After removing my wet clothes, I walk into the bathroom. I pour some water into the bucket and begin washing my face. My eyes gaze into the mirror with the water slowly dripping off my gray, scruffy beard. My grim face is full of wrinkles and even a few scars from the many adventures and troubles of my past. It is quite a sad thing that I am now a grim-looking, bald, old hermit of a man. My past handsome, brave self, with curly black hair that could melt the finest females, is long gone. Baldness doesn’t fit me. I looked damn good back in the day. Now I look like some homeless bum. I guess I am one technically, so it works out. God, I need another beer.

The sun is almost gone now. Darkness fills the tree house, much like the darkness that coils around inside me like an eel. With a strike of a match, I light a lantern and take a beer out of the fridge. I slip into bed in my boxers and sip the beer. Off in the distance, I hear the one-manned scooters of the army patrols buzzing by. Everyone in the swamp, even the marines, knows not to be in the swamp at night. After the sun goes down, the swamp is full of hellish creatures that can kill you in an instant. I finish the beer and chuck the empty bottle out of an opening in the branches. It shatters somewhere on the jungle floor. My shattered life feels a lot like that bottle.

I rest my head back onto my hands and light up one last cigarette for the day. While peering through the leaves, I notice the rain clouds have dispersed and the sun is gone. The three small moons appear to usher in the night. The mixture of green and purple of the moons is bright tonight. Most are probably enjoying the night, especially with the rain gone. Others could be going through horrible pain and anguish. For me, I lay back and ponder like I do every night. I ask myself the same usual questions over and over. What further cruelty must I endure? Why haven’t I been murdered or fallen? How did I end up here in this shit-hole of a place? Why won’t fate just finish me off, already? Is having the death of my wife on my hands not enough? Of course, I have to be abandoned by my only friends and family and left to wait for death like a rabid dog. I slowly start to doze off, just as a tear trickles down my cheek. Why can’t I be put out of my misery? Do I have to spend the rest of my life alone to rot? Take pity on me and kill me. Let me join my wife in death. Would she even let me join her after what I’ve done? The thoughts rattle my mind while I fall into slumber. I can only wait for the time when I am finally gotten rid of. I know it will be soon enough. I can feel Death’s cold hand on my shoulder, ready to claim me and perhaps punish me. Give it a day or two, but Death will finally strike me down. I know it will. Maybe Death will strike tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow will be the day I die.

Chapter Two

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A Slut, Thugs, Cops, and Love

Forty years ago, I didn’t have a care in the universe. At twenty years old, I was in the best physical shape of my life, the cockiest guy you’d probably ever meet, and the toughest son of a bitch around. There was no fight too large or dangerous for me. It was as if I enjoyed getting into brawls. I traveled from galaxy to galaxy, exploring every inch along the way. From the classiest palaces to the slimiest gutters, I had wandered through it all. Drink after drink, smoke after smoke, and woman after woman, I partied and did whatever I wanted to. It was the good life.

I couldn’t have cared less about cruel governments, mass genocides, the suffering innocent, and downright evil pricks. I didn’t mess with anybody, really, and they didn’t mess with me. Of course, random assholes occasionally crossed my path, but I took care of them. I was deadly with my pistols and fists. When growing up in the gutters of the galaxy, you learn how to hold your own in a fight. My body was fit and ripped with muscles, my hair was long and wavy black, and my face was even trimmed and shaved back then. I was a stud living a wild life. But I was reckless sometimes, like any adolescent who was left to fend for himself. Sex, lies, and drugs were my life. But soon, it all changed. One night, a night I would never forget, I was living the free life, but then she came into my life.

I remembered the night I first caught a glimpse of her. It started out like any other evening for me. I was in the Monto Bango, one of the sleaziest strip clubs you will ever be in, slipping a credit into the thong of a canine-looking girl. She arched her back in response and drew her leg over my lap. After placing her rump on my groin, she straddled me and took a cigarette from her G-string. The cigarette slid around her left nipple and then she drew it up to her lips. Her purple lipstick smeared across the filter after a soft kiss from her lips. I could tell she craved for me to light her cigarette. I reached over and struck a match on the end of the chair. Her lips puckered around the cigarette in anticipation. She leaned in close for me to light it; the aroma of her perfume easily filled my nostrils. The flame caught the end of the cigarette, and then it became ablaze. She took a long puff on it and then exhaled the smoke around my face. Satisfied, she leaned down farther and gently drew her triple-D breasts across my face.

After a few more puffs, she lifted herself off my lap and kissed me on my cheek. Her tail wagged back and forth behind her in delight when she walked away. I lifted myself out of the chair and started to walk toward the exit. I had had my fill of bare flesh, and since no girls wanted to retire to my bedroom, it was time to leave. However, along the way, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a stripper, and was love-struck instantly. I came to a stop in front of a gang of thugs who were admiring the same girl. I was entranced immediately. My eyes couldn’t gaze away from her curvy figure. Her brown hair, which stretched halfway down her back, twirled when she spun down the pole. There was a tattoo just above the crack of her rear; what a place to put a little kitty cat. Her voluptuous breasts bounced and swayed during her erotic dance. Her legs