Life in the Mesa

Morton's POV:

Morton Koopa Jr. put a clawed hand over his eye to block out the warm, dusty winds lashing at him where he stood.

He was peculiar at least. Not insane, yet eccentric. Unlike almost every Koopa that has or will ever live, he had a darker skin tone, like a muddy grayish-brown, rather than the soft mustard yellows of normal Koopas. He had a round white head with a tan, fleshy muzzle, and three thin, long stripes of black hair sprouting up like the grass around him; he had eyebrows that looked like his hair, too, that were so big extended off his head. He had four sharp fangs on the top corners of his mouth, two on each side; an overbite. He had dark brown eyes with a gray star centered over his left one that stretched into his cheek and snout—a strange birthmark indeed. All of his facial features were different from regular Koopas, who had beaks; yellow, oval-shaped heads and big eyes; rarely any hair at all; and no big star birthmarks anywhere.

He was slightly big-boned, too, and was burly built. His belly was sandpaper-tan and four-ribbed, and his stubby gray feet with three big toes on each had similarly tan pads on their undersides. His large shell was so brown it was practically black, with a white encasing and several small spikes on the back with gray rings encircling them; of which, like other spikes on shells, could be retracted for a smooth shell—their claws, or fingernails, too, could be retracted, like that of a cat's. He also had thick, powerful arms, and fists with crooked fingernails. This was all different from Koopas too; they were thin, with light orange ribbed bellies and small legs always covered with shoes or boots, leather or wood or the like; their shells were smaller and clearly plated, with no spikes and with singular colors like red, green, or yellow.

To top it all off for poor Morton, he was diagnosed with down syndrome and dyslexia, though at these Middle Ages these were not very well-known, common, or studied in any way, and so Morton was seen as strange to everyone. He didn't know why his condition was like this and neither did many others; this would hold true for centuries in this world. He also sounded like Tom Brokaw, if Tom Brokaw had a higher, squeakier, nasal voice.

Back to Morton's actions in the present, he strode forward, his shirt woven from dry grass fluttering in the wind. He surveyed his surroundings—his home. He saw miles upon miles of reddish-orange mesa rock and sand, with great red mountains and towers of cream, black, and yellow-colored clay and terracotta. He lived in a mesa biome in a hot, dry region. Giant antlions, vultures, and strange, living tumbleweeds Morton's father dubbed "angry tumblers" were among the most common creatures Morton had seen in this mesa, and for all he knew, besides a handful of scorpions and insects those antlions, vultures and angry tumblers were the only living creatures out here.

Besides them, of course.

Morton Koopa Sr. was Morton's father and was a kind, jolly old fellow who looked almost identical to his son, with the exception of being larger, older, having a yellow-colored shell, having darker scales, and no star birthmark. Also, Morton Sr. always wore a straw hat on his head that just barely fit, for it was quite small, and Sr. had promised Morton that he could wear it one day.

Morton Jr., on the other hand, was a little snobby sometimes, but due to his disorders, he was also not very bright, and overly happy more than utterly cynical. He was independent in his own right, though, helping his father as they lived their lives in isolation.

"DARN THIS WIND," Morton wheezed in his strange, loud voice. Early that morning, Sr. had tasked Morton to go fetch some water from a lake a mile away, and so far Morton's bucket had already lost about half of the collected water on the return trip due to the wind. He strained himself to keep going forward, praying that the wind would die down, but his prayers were not met.

"Morton! Morton…" Sr.'s voice, a very normal one, rose above the wind. "Morton, you back yet? Call if you can hear me!"

"I'M HERE, FATHER," Morton called back, "I'M COMING. THE WIND IS BEING ANNOYING."

Finally, the wind gradually began to end, and Morton was able to see Sr. at one of their shacks made of packed clay and Joshua tree wood. They had a total of seven shacks dotting the mesa plateau and surrounding mountains, for Morton and his father were semi-nomads who traveled about, for different resources were located at their different shacks, and wandering traders sometimes visited the farther shacks, in the mountains.

"Here, son," Sr. said, waving his hand as he hurried to Morton, "I'll take dat for ya." Sr. scooped the half-empty wooden bucket from Morton's hands and carried it towards their shack, calling over his shoulder, "would you collect the millet I got today? It be down at the farm in some sacks."

"YES FATHER," Morton groaned, and he ran down to the millet field to fetch their food.

That night, Morton found himself sitting with his father, wrapped in cotton-cloth blankets, sitting on stones in front of a small campfire. The firelight flickered on their faces, making it look like the two Koopas had some strange tribal face paint. Morton scooped some millets from his soup with a wooden spoon, devouring them hungrily after a long day of work.

"Encounter anythin'?" Sr. asked Morton under the stars.

"I SAW A SCORPION, BUT I LEFT IT ALONE," said Morton, "I DIDN'T HAVE MY KNIFE ON ME."

"That's too bad," huffed Sr., "I would've liked some fried scorpions in my millet soup."

Morton coughed into the fire. "YOU KNOW I THINK THEY'RE CREEPY. I AIN'T WANT NUTHIN' TO DO WITH 'EM."

Sr. chuckled at that comment. "Unless they're the big black ones that come from the caves, they won't attack you unless you do first. And if you do, you should aim to slice off the stinger first, remember? Then hit 'em with some rocks and stab 'em to death."

"YES, I KNOW THE DRILL, FATHER."

"Good, Morton, good…how much water was in da lake today?"

Morton's gut twisted as he remembered the sight he'd seen earlier today. "IT WAS ONLY HALF FULL."

"It was disappearing over the past three weeks, but half empty already? Must be the first drought of summer," Sr. explained, looking up at the cloudless sky. "This is gonna be tough. But we'll get through it. We've gotten through thirteen years like this, and I've gotten through twenty-one more with your…mother." Sr. stopped abruptly. The pattern painted on his face was lost in shadow.

Morton could tell he was thinking of Claudie. Morton never knew his mother, because she died giving birth to him and his brother, Kevin, who had died before he was born. Morton only knew of Kevin because he saw a grave at one of their mountain shacks, and he asked Sr. about if he knew who it was for. It was entitled "Kevin," too, but Morton didn't know how to read, and Sr. never thought of teaching him.

"My only worry is that we'll run out of water," said Sr. There was a pause. "Maybe…maybe we head up to one of our mountain shacks and check the lake there. In fact, we will. We'll leave tomorrow morning."

Morton nodded, unfazed. Sr. was the kind of person to make big decisions on a whim like this.

"Finish your soup—then go help me pack," ordered Sr., finishing his own soup and getting to his feet with a grunt.

"YES, FATHER."

New references to games in this chapter:

1. Morton Koopa Jr. is from Mario, and Sr. is a fictional character based on Mario; Koopas are from Mario as well

2. Morton's grass shirt and Sr.'s straw hat is Don't Starve's Grass Suit and Straw Hat, respectively

3. Morton and Sr. live in a mesa biome from Minecraft

4. The "giant antlions, vultures, and strange, living tumbleweeds Morton's father dubbed 'angry tumblers'" are the Antlions, Vultures, and Angry Tumblers from Terraria, respectively; "the big black ones that come from the caves" are the Sand Poachers from Terraria, too