|
Eyes still closed, Bill rolled to a sitting, then standing position. He shook vigorously the shattered debris from his head and clothing. He appeared unharmed. He opened his eyes, and smiled a half-twisted grin of curiosity. "Well, boy," Bill walked to Toasterhead and extended a hand. "Let's go to the city." "How will we get there?" The toaster requested using the aid of the farmer to scramble to his feet. "The way the old man in the garden intended..." "Old man? What? What are you talking about?" "By foot." Farmer Bill walked off the road and through a ditch. He briefly turned his head back and glanced at the toaster with a grin. He turned again and continued. The toaster stood dumbfounded. He tried too gather his thoughts, but didn't know where to start. He looked back down the road to the disappearing bus. He looked back down the road to the disappearing bus. He felt a breeze cross his vents and rustle nearby leaves of the cornfield. But not a sound reached his ears. He tried to think, but the distraction of this extreme silence and desolation prevented him. This absence of mind left him to follow the only one of his options that he could think of- follow the crazy farmer down any path that he would. The farmer spread a feeling to the toaster. He made him feel wily, adventurous, and free. He almost felt as if Bill was in agony and remorse of his past, and that he believed he represented, and even was Bill's past self. "Wait up!" The farmer continued into the nearby cornfield brushing the leaves to his side and vanishing into the chlorophyll. The toaster, feeling a slight desperation, rushed to follow him, bursting into a sprint as if the farmer would disappear forever if he did not soon catch sight of him. He leapt into the cornfield, expecting Bill to be right before him. His feet sunk into the soft dirt upon his unfamiliar landing. The toaster expected to see the farmer immediately. Only lush vegetation could be seen on all sides. He ran a few more steps, in slow motion (because of the thick, fertile topsoil) and spun around again. He stood still. He listened. Everything was still silent, even the rustling leaves of the cornfield spoke no words. No trace could be found of that peculiar farmer. An arm reached from some unknown space and pulled the toaster by the shoulder. "Come on." Farmer Bill shifted his eyes from side to side and wiggled his finger, motioning the toaster to come closer and to stay out of sight from an unknown invader. "We must be careful..." The toaster crouched nest to the ground in front of Bill, shifted his eyes from side to side, and awaited further advice. "So, what's the plan?" "Well, we've got a long journey ahead of us, most of which will be very uneventful and tiresome. We are in one of the most boring landscape formations on the planet." "Well, let's get going, shall we?" "Hold it, Sparky! It's a jungle out there. You can't just jump into the water without learning of the dangers which lurk within." "Look around," The toaster rebutted, standing up and raising his arms and his voice. "What do we have to fear in this great field of serenity? No lethal animals exist in this part of the country, and see you any other people around to harm us?" "What are you thinking, man?" Bill cried, pulling the toaster back down to the ground by his shirt. "We must beware of the monkeys!" "Monkeys?" "Monkeys!" Bill turned his head again to glance around. "Corn Monkeys. They do exist." "What are you talking about?" "You watch too much TV, lad. This is the real world." "Corn monkeys?" The toaster tilted his head in confusion. "Evil, hideous beasts of no face or trace. their entire existence relies on rumors and wives' tales. Many people choose not to believe in them, so breaking the word of their warning, causing many drunken hillbillies and ignorant fools to die in vain." "Corn monkeys?" "No one knows what they look like for certain, so they give them the title monkeys, but any monkey would be much more merciful on a soul than these vicious beasts." "Corn monkeys?" The toaster shifted his eyebrow and his face appeared as if he had just eaten something foul, but didn't want to upset the cook. "Driven insane, no doubt, by solitude, torment of having their homes repeatedly ravaged by combines, and being driven to a diet of corn and hemp leaves!" "Yeah, whatever." "Don't doubt the corn monkeys. Beware always their wrath! Constantly keep your guard up, and should anything happen to me. Follow the horizon line of the raising of the sun. Ask directions always at small coffee shops and farm houses, and never completely trust anyone but yourself, should you meet any one that close." "Well, can we go now?" "Sure. I just wanted to make sure to be adamant about such a serious topic. Worry not. We most likely will meet no such unruly beasts along the path." "Yeah, about these fields. Wouldn't it be safer to travel by road?" The toaster looked around again in confusion at his unfamiliar green surroundings. "I'm sure we could blend in with that most familiar American occupation of being a hobo, fooling both tourists and locals alike, but other dangers I have foreseen on your path, if by road we travel." the farmer started. "Even worse than corn monkeys?" the toaster returned with a chuckle. "Don't take the corn monkeys lightly, or believe you me, they will devour you. But the corn monkeys are a neutral force and twould be safer to face their wrath than the evil that now hunts us." "What are you talking about?" "Unbeknownst to you, your mission is far greater than any that I ever participated." An unfamiliar silence passed as the toaster tried to read the mind of this apparently retarded, time-worn soldier. Somehow, in his voice there was no hesitation of jocular pranks (which the toaster was quickly familiarizing himself with). The farmer, however studied not the toaster's reaction to his cryptic words, but rather seemed to track a bird with his hawk eyes. "Look!" Bill hoarsely uttered, grabbing the rear of the toaster's skull and pointing it in the direction of the road and up into the air, where a black crow probed the street. Bill whispered now, "Spies!" "Spies!?" "Indeed, spies. Someone, not human, but someone who also commands animals to do his bidding. Our safety lies in camouflage for now, someone stalks your presence upon a bus, which is reason for haste, for when your enemy reaches the land-roving frigate, then they will search the fields." "It's just a bird. No one even knows I am alive." "I do." "I've made no enemies." "Where did you get that watch?" "Uh, my watch?" The toaster's face flushed. "He couldn't. He's just an old man!" "I hope it feels good." Bill now vengefully chuckled for his earlier disbelief of corn monkeys. "It's just a bird. He's just a man. You're just making this up to scare me, right?" "I'm afraid not, but we had better press on." The farmer proceeded through the corn field. The toaster jumped to his heels. In this lush foliage, he thought, his bearings seemed completely muffled. Farmer Bill would act as his compass, no matter how screwy his logic presented itself. After walking several hundred feet, the toaster began to comprehend the mechanics of the green layout. Rows herded the plants for endless miles. They followed not these easy paths, however, but rather roughly scratched the unsteady sideways grain of the fields. The time passed slowly as they moved rather quickly. The sun was hot and the toaster's patience distraught. His bare head baked in the summer afternoon sun, and he remembered once again , and not for the last time, his feverous labour, baking bread on hot coals-hotter though, oh much hotter than right now, but the sun still scorched and burned his whit brow. The dirt now grew thicker and covered his pant. It filled up his shoes and pushed out his feet. The brown stuff beneath, this soft topsoil, so fertile and rich, which nourished the beautiful vegetation, now turned into muddy goo in the sweat of his socks. And the caressing leaves that simply brushed by his arms and face miles ago when they entered this dimension of lush, tender green, now scratched his face and burned his arms with some unsaid rash that itched with the sun and burned with a scratch. His lead feet dragged pound over pound of caked mud, and weighed at his legs which soon would give out. He cried to the farmer, a step and a half ahead to slow down, but no sound emerged as a dry, sticky film clogged the back of his throat which begged for a drink. He attempted to half swallow this sticky film, and call to the farmer. "Stop! Wait!", The toaster fell to the ground, grabbing at the heels of the farmer, begging for a minute to rest. The farmer, who would easily be thought to be a weak, older man, (who was by comparison to his younger version) had barely broken a sweat. "We have barely only covered ten miles of ground," Bill's eyebrows seemed to frown at the toaster. "Can't you go any further?" "How far?" "Well, I was expecting to walk until dark to cover as muck ground as possible." The farmer encouraged. It was no good. The farmer's sales pitch would make little impact on the toaster's weary limbs. It had been a long day, and under-developed muscles were worn beyond their point of any further use. Bill turned his head to look over his shoulder to view the afternoon sun. He bit his lip as a look of frustration and despair grew onto his face as a young boy who must wait until the day after Christmas to open his presents. The sun was, however, sinking quickly into the evening. He turned to the toaster and looked at his feet, deciding finally what he could not really choose, "Yes, I suppose we can camp here for the night." The toaster overtook a look of relief as he fell to his knees in the soft soil. A long winded sigh crept from his chapped lips. His entire body melted with relaxation on the dirt floor. Farmer Bill walked in a large spherical shape around the toaster, mowing the cornstalks beneath. A friendly radius was etched into the field for a camp site, Carpeted by dry corn leaves rather than the less comfortable dirt. Upon this bed, the toaster immediately fell asleep, and nothing would disturb his slumber until late morning the next day. Bill had been trained in his past to be a soldier, a protector, and his own self-inclined duty would not permit himself to sleep that night. He sat hunched over, coiled, ready for any predators about through the entire night, but his solitary watch was not completely lonely, for even as Bill watched over this small new friend, the stars who were especially bright tonight and also kept him company, watched over him. And the even brighter and greater moon watched over them all. Farmer Bill spoke to the moon in the well lit night. "Rachael, I feel so alone. Can you ever forgive me?" He looked to the moon with a drearily tired face, almost expecting a response. The moon responded by looking down upon him with it's ever famous power, filled with a complete absence of feeling. "And what am I doing now? What is my role in this young boy's destiny? He is fragile and innocent, yet somehow I feel that without him, I would not exist." There was a long pause as Farmer Bill attempted to organize his thoughts and grasp for his next sentence. "I have learned much since you left me, Rachael. You died because everything was such a power play. Guns, money, death, and vengeance, it's all foolishness. I have found that everyone in the world is restricted to four basic duties: to live, to learn, to teach and to die. I am trying very hard to be human. I have lived, and I have learned much, and fortunate as I am, I have also loved. Now, however, I must teach. I have an eager pupil, a life to mold in my hands. If I do not teach him, it is certain that someone else will, and as this world decays with corruption, I need hope. I need a spirit, a fire in my eyes, so that this boy may learn from me the right way. My prayers and pleads go out tonight. Please give me the strength. Rachael, Old man in the garden, anyone, please help me teach this boy what is right. Then, maybe, I can die in peace." Another long silence followed this little prayer. Farmer Bill bowed his head into his lap. Hours passed. Bill raised his head again to stare at the full moon. He stared hypnotically at the bright, eerie glow. He smiled to himself, remembering his lost friends, replaying their memories like a videocassette on the moon's full screen. Tears swelled his eyes so that he could see no longer until the moon set the next morning. Bill fell asleep for the latter part of the morning, and then awoke punctually before noon. A slow, tired start overtook him until the sleep was drained from his face. The farmer uncomfortably attempted to awake the toaster by shaking him. The toaster have neatly the same reaction as would be given by a corpse. "C'mon, Toasterhead," he now raised his voice, "Time to wake up." The toaster lay on the field floor, in the most comfortable place in the world. (judging by his face.) The dirt caked to his face and clothes that most likely had been turned to mud from the morning dew was as soft of a pillow as possible for a creature who had previously known little of rest. He readjusted his sleeping position with a groan as a dream apparently planted a smile on his face. Farmer Bill was losing compassion and patience. The farmer now gave him a less courteous boot to the left rib. "Ow!" the toaster now snapped out of his restful mode. "What the hell was that for?" At this particular comment, Bill contacted his stomach with the same boot. "Ow!" "The language you kids hear on television really upsets me sometimes. C'mon, it's time to get rolling." "Can't we just move at night?" "Why would that make a difference?" Bill inquired. "Well," started the toaster who was still lying on the ground, "We are running from the forces of evil, right? "and," Bill anxiously awaited the toaster's new excuse-filled logic. "Well, evil is generally dark and sinister, so they are most likely nocturnal creatures. So wouldn't it be easier to keep our guard up at night?" The farmer thought before he answered. "Well, we are creatures that need light for guidance so we'd need to see where we are going, and the bad guys know this. So, I am guessing that night will be a more dangerous time to travel..." The toaster broke in, "But that's exactly what they want you to believe!" "Are you sure this is not merely an excuse to sleep in?" "Of course not!" The toaster sat up. The farmer kicked him in the side again, "C'mon let's get moving." It was too late. The toaster was already awake, engrossed in a futile discussion and was too proud to back down. "No, this is serious." He sat up to prove the argument was no excuse to sleep further. (whether it was or not was no longer important) "We have to strategically decide our hour of movement." "Okay," Farmer Bill said with a sinister grin developing in his face. "They don't yet know that we know that they are following us, right?" "Right." the toaster said uneasily, opening up a world of potential. "So," Farmer Bill drew him in, unearthing another can of his confusing logic. "We travel all day today, while we are clear, and by tonight, they will have figured out our plan at which time they will likely clumsily and immediately resume a night search for us, so we should continue travel into tonight. Then by late night tonight they will decide that they have acted rashly, plotting a new plan at which time I will support your theory and suggestion of moving by night and sleeping by day. They traveled all day that day, with little to speak of, save a few new scratches and sores. As night fell, Bill insisted upon taking Toasterhead's advice of traveling nocturnally (as suggested that morning). This was found to be a great disappointment to the toaster, for new he was forced to travel almost twenty hours in a row. After this much travel, though, neither of them had any difficulty in falling to sleep that evening.
|