The Station, Part 44

I have a new friend. I’ve named him Fred. He’s maybe about three meters tall, with a heavy build, and like me, he’s got six fingers on each hand and four toes per his two feet. But that’s where the similarity ends. He’s but a skull only and hideous mother could love. It’s a huge skull that that, but its proportional to the rest of the skeleton. The eye sockets are huge. The nose cavity, immense as well, sits right above a set of jaws that would give a shark pause. Whatever Fred was in life, he was one formidable-looking motherfucker. But as the evidence shows, even the meanest motherfuckers aren’t invincible.

I’ve also noticed that Fred and I share other similarities. He apparently didn’t wear a stitch of clothing in life, as there’s no trace of even a thread of fabric. It’s possible that it decayed over time, but I find that highly unlikely. In the time needed fro that to happen, the bones would have probably fossilized. Fred also had one thing that makes me believe that giant skull once housed a decent brain. Beside him where he sits along the cave wall I found a crystal not unlike my own. It’s larger than mine; I would have trouble carrying it. But by the looks of Fred, he would have had no trouble handling it.

He must have been about seven feet tall and well built, as his bones are at least twice the thickness of my own. What an imposing figure he must have made in life. But then again, for all I know he was the runt of the litter. But it’s the digits on his hands and feet that intrigue me the most. Six and four, like mine. Was it just natural for him to have them? Or was he, like me stranded here and then altered? Perhaps I’ll never know the answer to that question, but at least I have solved the mystery of the strange symbols along the cave walls. The end of the crystal by his side shows some damage to its shaper side. The end has been worn downed. Used as a writing utensil no doubt. So he was no mere brute. Just another lost soul trying to find his way out. And his way home. I can empathize with his situation. What were his last days like? And why did die? In here. I think I owe Fred an apology. I called him a motherfucker earlier. No, he doesn’t deserve that. Not even the “mean” part. He was lost, alone and died that way. That is no way anyone should have to spend their remaining days. That won’t be me.

But finding Fred does bring up another question. That’s all I seem to have lately. Questions. No answers. Lots of assumptions. Today it is just more tiring to even make the assumptions. I shouldn’t be this worn out though. I’ve been traveling downward, which is easy. It’s cool. But I’m rapidly getting bone tired. Maybe I need food. But I haven’t been thirsty, which is somewhat intriguing. But not that much. Its just sleep I need perhaps. But as interesting as Fred is, I don’t want to take a nap in the same place as he; that’s just plain unnerving. You should see his teeth.