The rain continues to fall against the walls of Mount Wilson, but it has eased up enough to venture out. I went down the slopes to try and corral some food, only to find the earth had turned to a muddy slush. It feels like a hurricane without the wind. Despite the ruined earth, I was able to find some food in the form of a dead mega-buffalo. It was small, so it must only have been a baby, but small is all relative. With this much meat, I should have plenty of food to wait out the storm. It was irritating to get it up the mountain, but I can only imagine how much harder it would have been if I had not had my sled. On a related note, I must build my next sled out of stronger materials than tree bark and vines. As I was bringing it up the slope, the reins snapped and almost cost me the meat. Nonetheless, I have the food tucked away in the back of this cave, ready for later consumption.
I take it you're feeling better?
Not talking to you. You are a voice in my head, lalalalala.
I don't think sticking your fingers in your ears works with writing.
Just the crazy opinion of a voice in my head which I do not have to listen to.
Hah! You are voice in head!
Oi, if I am, you are too y'know.
Wolfgang not understand.
Why bother understanding when nothing is worth understanding? It's all going to end one day, and all that understanding dies with us.
You are just the life of the party aintcha?
There is no party, this is only the many parts of myself bickering with each other because I am going mad.
Oh stop it willy, you're going to drive yourself crazy talking like that. Well, crazier I suppose.
Bah! I need to walk, clear my head.
Where too exactly? It's raining cats and those other things out there.
The word you're looking for is 'wolves'. And I am not scared of any rain.
Wilson A Percival. A man.
Sorry, I'm new to this narrator gig.
A-hem.
Wilson A Percival stood up from his notebook. It looked far older now, tattered, worn and browning. The pen that lay next to it was in better condition, but that's not to say much. Trapped inside were the only words Wilson had heard from another "human being" in over two weeks. During this time, he had taken to muttering things to himself. Comments about the weather, his clothes, or about the time of day. If he had to define it, he might call it small talk. Like most introverts, Wilson had never had much use for small talk with other people, much less himself. In fact, he'd never been a particularly chatty man at all. He had prided himself on saying only what needed to be said.
This practice made him come across as rude in social gatherings and a know it all at work. Lord knows how he found friends, let alone a wife. But I suppose that's what certain people can do to you, bring you out of whatever box you put yourself in. It's a pleasant thing more often than not. If Wilson was in his right mind, he might wonder if this small talk was his fault, or if it was another one of his errant personalities, albeit one with less written skill. He looked out of the cave and saw what might as well have been a waterfall. Water came from the sky in the hundreds of liters, pulverizing the ground. Wilson could not even see the clouds or the forest when he looked out. Instead, Wilson turned inwards. Stalactites and stalagmites littered the corners of the cave. They looked almost decorative for their haphazard placement, like squat stone conversation pieces. The smoldering embers of the fire sat in the middle of the room, set into a divot in the floor
His small pile of berries, firewood, and one dead animal were clustered to the back of the room, near his sled. He wondered if it was wise to store food this way. Still, it was all he could do for now. The sled was looking far worse for wear than even the dead animal. It was full of holes, with loose twine wrapped around it and bits of berry juice and blood mingling together. Grabbing a handful of leaves, Wilson stooped down to try and clean some of the runoff. The leaves weren't that absorbent, but he got the job done. The thin liquid mix drained off the sled and slipped backward, into the cave wall. More specifically, into a crack in the cave wall. This crack wasn't very thick, but it was long, stretching in one continuous run all the way up to the ceiling some four meters above Wilson. Wilson tapped the rock and heard an echo behind it. A clear echo, like the other side was close.
Wilson looked around for something to hit the crack with, but he couldn't see anything. He searched for a few more moments before he realized what he had to try. Taking a few steps back, he braced himself as he charged forward, shoulder first, into the wall. He collided with the stone, and chips flew backward. The echo was loud and reverberated on both sides. His shoulder sung with pain, but it was more shock than anything else. He stepped back again and charged once more. The wall crumbled beneath his weight, and his momentum carried him into the new cave. It's rather miraculous he managed that. I mean, he's what, 130 pounds? That wall's got to be made of tissue paper! The inside of this back room was dark, and Wilson stood still a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they didn't, he pressed his hands to the wall and began to slide across it.
Unfortunately for Wilson, his nostrils weren't affected by the dark, so he could smell the awful stink that permeated the cave air. Imagine the smell of blood-soaked saliva mixed with burnt, wet, and salted dog, garnished with a hint of something unspeakable. After Wilson had finished throwing up, he decided to leave the cave alone for a few hours to let the smell disperse. This would've been a smart move, if the smell didn't seep out into the entire cave. But it did, thus forcing Wilson to stand outside to avoid throwing up again. Luckily, the smell did not seem to want to interact with the rain. Of course, Wilson now had to get back in. He had only been standing there mere moments, and his entire body was already drenched. The rain, like everything else, was about as forgiving as a brick to the teeth. As Wilson's hair began to lose its shape, Wolfgang took over.
Wolfgang, having no idea what was going on, turned around and walked into the cave. He would've thrown up too, had it not been for his rule against such things. So, like any self-respecting man, he swallowed his pride with his food and carried on into the cave. By the time he had reached the hole, he was doing his best to hold in every one of his bodily fluids, with positive results. Makes you wonder how Wilson is such a ponce when his body can do all this. Anyway, Wolfgang stepped through the hole, with the not incorrect reasoning that there might be some smelly beast hiding behind the cave. He faced the same problem as Wilson in this new room, in that he could see nothing. Instead of taking the cautious approach, he proceeded to charge into the darkness with a strange gargling noise emitting from his lips. He would later call this a "battle cry", but it was far more akin to a frog mating session gone terribly, terribly wrong. Wolfgang was now a ways into the back area of the cave, and the smell seemed to have gone stale. This should have made it even worse, but instead it became mellower and not quite as vomit inducing. It was here that Wolfgang switched into Willow, who took one look at the fact she couldn't see and started panicking.
Not many people know this, not even Willow herself, but she is not fond of dark, enclosed spaces. In fact, I have heard these kind of things called Fo-bee-yah's. Which is strange, as this situation doesn't have anything resembling bees. I suppose a dislike of enclosed spaces could stem from a fear of being in a beehive, but that seems awfully specific. Anyway, Willow was freaking out pretty much the moment she had gotten her bearings, and this was in no way helped by the muffled, but still awful smell emanating from everywhere. So she did the only sensible thing and began trying to light a fire. She fell to the floor, grasping to try and find a suitable rock. She ripped off a bit of Wilson's pants, got her rock, and struck the ground underneath the pants. There was a click, and the pants caught. For a moment, her breathing evened out, the tiny flicker of flame on the fabric providing immediate comfort. However, with this comfort came a flickering memory. Whether it was from Wilson or from Willow, she did not know, but it told her what this smell was.
She dropped the fabric, leaving it to flicker in the darkness, and began to run as fast as she could. The flame burnt, swished, and then caught. It billowed outwards, igniting the disgusting air in a great ball of flame. The entire cavern was lit up for the split second before the fireball filled the space. Willow kept running, wanting to look back when she swapped to Wilson. Wilson did not know what was going on, and looked back. If he'd been able to process what was happening, he might've wet himself, but it all happened too fast. He flew backwards, riding the explosion like a wave. He flailed his limbs about as the fire licked at his body, cutting painful burns into his skin. All until the force of the explosion carried him off the edge of the cavern. He fell, down, down, down. The shock of the cold water slamming against him brought all his adrenaline out at once. He flailed, kicking up a lot of waves, but not swimming. He begun to sink, which only fueled his panicked flailing, which in turn cost him a lot of oxygen. Blackness crept across the edges of his vision and became all he could see.
