The Great Depression
Floorboards snapped under the slightest weight. Wind had coaxed Wilson's disheveled outfit to hook onto several nails which poked along the walls.
A mess...an utter mess. It's all Wilson could think about. A mess….his life for the past months had been...no years!
He bit his tongue to remind himself not to cry, but the pain had the opposite effect. Wilson sighed as tears slid silently down his cheek.
He told himself it was the dust and wind that watered his eyes; however, the tingle of his nose and the twisting of his heart were things he couldn't hide.
"Oh bother!" Maxwell was leaned against a doorway. He rolled his eyes as he amused himself by chewing a twig. "Come now Wilson-you're crying?" His tone was of disbelief. "We've weaseled ourselves out of the Constant. Those better be tears of joy, boy!"
Wilson nodded, in both acknowledgment and agreement.
Just the mention of the "Constant" made Wilson mentally flinch.
Yes, he'd faced a great deal of horrors there.
He hasn't shed a single tear then...surely.
His body quivered...from the chill of the wind, of course.
Nothing more. Nothing more.
Wilson assured himself.
With great effort Wilson stood on his twindly legs, much like the twigs...Maxwell chewed.
One twig hadn't been enough.
Several more had been shoved into his mouth, making Mawell's long face reminiscent of a poor, abused horse.
Wilson didn't even wish to think about the how's or why's. His mind was so tired…simply a mess.
But, he had to ask. Asking is what scientists did, and he was one-Wilson knew that confidently enough.
"W-what? Maxwell, why are you eating twigs!? A-are you...hungry?"
The mere mention of "hunger" stirred something dark in both of them.
Maxwell glared at Wilson. Slowly, he flicked out each twig from his mouth with as much dignity as possible; however, spit glistened on his chin-the man had little left.
Wilson rubbed his eyes at the sight. He didn't dare consider how he looked.
"So, tears of joy then?" Maxwell smirked, his eyes glinted with mirth. He knew.
Wilson's mouth grew dry. Showing weakness was a habit he'd always avoided.
No crying. That was the gist of it.
Now that Maxwell, his most terrible and loathsome enemy knew...that he could cry...
Well!
Wilson darkly frowned.
No doubt Maxwell would tease him for tears down the line…
Wilson's heart hiccuped further. He clenched his teeth, his tone just scraping out of coming off as weak.
"I built this house you know. These tears are very warranted."
"Oh?"
"Yes!" Wilson meekly smiled. Gently he reminisced about how. "By my own two hands! Each plank, rod, and nail, mine alone!" Wilson was smiling genuinely now. His tone swelled naturally with pride.
But it quickly died down. Wilson cradled the splintered remains. His creation was gone.
"Really?" Maxwell grinned, a bit like a horse. "I've a hard time believing that pal. You never built a house back in the Constant. Why is that, hrm?" He shrugged. "Would have been useful instead of scrapping in the mud and snow along the seasons."
Maxwell blinked rapidly, grossly coy as Wilson stared at him in baffled disgust.
Maxwell might as well have been blinking in Morse code for "idiot." Wilson felt fury retch up from his very bones.
"You asshole!" Wilson stomped viciously. "Building a house in that n-nightmare r-realm!? It would have been a defeat! A-an acceptance!"
Maxwell waved for Wilson to continue.
"Go on, pal." His eyes glimmered. Getting a rise out of folks was a thrill he'd never live down-even when accidently.
Wilson's stuttering stunted his anger.
He hung his head...weakly. "I never gave up...you know…on coming back."
His smile was grim, having grown wise to his sparse optimism. "A-and we are back. I made it."
Maxwell huffed. He wasn't about to give credit to Wilson, even if his genius ultimately did save them.
Wilson raised a brow. Maxwell was chewing on another twig. He almost asked again "why," but thought better of it. He didn't want to give Maxwell reason to discontinue his odd behavior.
It was...amusing.
Only the bedroom remained relatively intact. Two walls had partially collapsed and belongings of the slightest value had long been whisked away-by the likes of villagers, Wilson hypothesized.
He chewed his lip as his heart twisted again. All his possessions and research...were gone!
Most notably, his bed had been replaced by cobwebs and mummified rats.
However, a wardrobe, twice Wilson's size, had toppled over face down.
Hope, was it, that Wilson felt?
It was surprisingly easy for Wilson to heave the wardrobe upright. The long torturous venture in the Constant put meat on his bones. His haunches were blocky like a bulldog's. No longer was Wilson akin to a curious Italian greyhound.
"Eeeeee, yes!" Wilson squealed in delight. The wardrobe had flopped open to reveal a few things the villagers had dismissed.
Clothes! Ahh, his entire collection...was mostly intact; save for the nippings of moths, and rats for their nests.
Most of the garments were colored dull black and browns, done purposely for the sake of practicality.
Anything lighter stained. Wilson didn't care to do much laundry either.
However, he had one thing that was white-a dress. Wilson carefully took it out, his eyes glimmering as if it was the first time he'd seen it.
It was his most favored and precious outfit.
The dress was dappled thickly with golden flowers and light green lace. Embroidered pink and red roses also lightly touched the pattern.
Wilson beamed. The dress was in fine condition!
Likely due to the fact he almost never wore it; rarely would he have reason to.
Now he did. Never would he take fine clothing for granted!
Without hesitation, he tossed aside his disgusting wilderness garments of beefalo fur, leaving only pants made of rough hound hides.
Wilson found the shattered remains of a mirror, which he used to tie the dress correctly and to fix his hair, as best he could.
His squinted, trying to remember what he once looked like. Absentmindedly, a finger twisted around his beard.
It was troublesome and had to go.
Having long grown brazen, Wilson picked up a long piece of mirror and set to work.
It was difficult. He didn't dare blink as he struggled to remove patches of stubble and stubborn roots.
Eventually, a nasty pile was on the floor and he was careful to keep it off his dress.
He kicked the pile into a corner-it belonged to the rats now, as did everything else.
Wilson hadn't considered Maxwell's reaction.
Walking out of view only to pop out wearing a dress-Wilson admitted, was odd, but only upon reflection.
"Yes, yes Maxwell, this is a dress."
"Why on Earth are you wearing it!? Pal, you're getting even more impossibly ridiculous!"
Wilson rolled his eyes. 'Says the man who chews twigs,' he thought.
"Auahaha!" Maxwell laughed heartily. Wilson blinked-why?
"You've cut up your chin!" He had a scat-eating grin, muddling his initial surprise. "Did you get into a fight with a cat, pal?"
Wilson raised a brow and scowled. As seconds ticked by, he realized his chin did feel uncomfortable. He touched it and blood came back.
"Oh bother." Wilson whispered to himself
That would be the last time he shaved in the dark…with glass.
He walked past Maxwell, ignoring various snide remarks sent his way.
"Wilson, did you hear?"
No, he didn't…
"There's a hideous gnome stealing dresses and women's lingerie. I hear a good reward is being offered...oh, wait!"
Wilson again rolled his eyes. Maxwell never was much use.
From the dress, he pulled out a map. Every few weeks Wilson would go to town to resupply and he marked down his favorite places.
Should be go to the cafe firsr, or immediately go get new clothing?
Wilson didn't want his first impressions to paint him as a savage…even if in the past the town had shunned him for being a non-religious hermit.
He turned to ask Maxwell for his option, but paused.
Maxwell was chewing a stick.