"Unknown to you,
I walk the cheerless shore.
The cutting blast, the hurl of biting brine,
May freeze, and still, and bind the waves at war..."
- Emily Pauline Johnson
PROLOGUE
His sense of hearing registered first among his senses upon reawakening out of consciousness. His ears detected a symphony of mixed sounds - the roaring of fire, the scattered shrieks of wildlife, the creaking of metal and the cries of humanity. The symphony's volume was more than he could bear - a large headache started to form inside his already hurting head. Scrunching his eyes in pain, he groaned and placed a hand on his brow to placate the pain. But he immediately froze when he felt something wet touch his fingers. He patted the wet substance again and rubbed it in his fingers to confirm his growing suspicions and dread. And then he dared to open his second sense - sight.
Slowly opening his eyes, he blinked twice and raised his hand in front of him. And he didn't like what his suspicions confirmed - blood clung to his hand. His blood. Touch, his third sense, awakened - patches of soft grass and hard earth could be felt from underneath him.
He gasped and shuddered and looked around quickly as though he were a caged and frightened animal. The largest object in the area caught his eye and took his speech away - a massive, red, and broken vehicle resting its damaged form against what resembled a white pillar topped with a similar representation of the Capitol Building's crown.
The airship.
"Whoa...", he remarked quietly.
His eyes widened as he stared in shock. The once proud metallic monster was now a broken and hollow victim. Glass that fell from the windows littered the landscape and large tears in its sides exposed its interiors. But its worst injury was its front. It was completely smashed inwards towards a nearby leafed cliff, rendering the ship unrecognizable. It laid there in the flames as they devoured its hard shell. Grey architectural casualties, from buildings covered with tangled vines to the pad where the pillar once stood, were crushed under the giant's weight. The fires started by the ship's cursed landing conjured up odors of burning grass and fuels.
He could hardly believe it. The airship's destruction was awful no matter how much it terrified him yet there was something so fascinating about its demise that he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away.
What... happened?
A/N: Mr. Dave Panpa. Former occupation: prisoner of a clan of thieves known as the Toppats. Current occupation: free man and sole witness to their destruction. Soon he will look for a new job - a seeker withwarm hand to hold and take comfort from the coldest and cruelest monster of them all. In a moment, we will see him embark on his journey into a wide world, one he may not be ready to return to yet. But along the way, he'll get a little help, here in the world of sticks, stones, potentials and bones.
This short story was originally going to be a two-parter, but the pacing of this story argued against the notion and so I'll post the prologue for now.
This is part of a new series for the Henry Stickmin games where I explore the 'what-ifs' of the world. Some stories will be quick and written as one-shots; others like this one will be written as short stories. Enjoy!
References:
-The title of this short segment refers to the poem, "Through Time and Bitter Distance", by Emily Pauline Johnson.