Farming
Myfingersgrazethefresh scorch mark on my forehead, still hot from the ash. I don’t know why, but Ireallylike it.
Maybe I’m losing it?
Living inside a volcanic mountain with giant half-naked alien bodybuilders who seem perpetually on the brink of murder could do that to anyone. Even the best and most beautiful can only hold out for so long.
But there’s something about the heat, those green flumes, and that great statue—Arawnoth, I think it represents—that carries me away to that other realm of fire. It drives back my darkness, filling me with a strange, burning energy that makes me feel alive... full of purpose. It’s hard to explain, but I crave it. Beatsthe hell out of whatever drugs the doctors gave me back on Earth, that’s for sure.
As I make my way through the cavernous tunnels back to our room, no longer needing the distinct glowing crystals that illuminate the black walls for guidance. I surprise myself—surprise everybody—with how well I’ve adapted to this place. It’s weird, but I enjoy it here. There’s a wild, untamed energy. It’s dangerous, primal, and exciting! If only the food were better and I wasn’t at the mercy of a giant, grumpy bore.
If my old friends could see me now—dressed like a medieval gnome, no makeup except for a black smudge of ash on my forehead, like some hobo—they’d probably die laughing. And then I’d have to call them bitches. Well, they always were bitches.
I should care, but I don’t. Maybe being away from Earth, from all the distractions, has numbed that part of me. I just don’t feel the urge to try so hard. Out here, I stand out like a sexy thumb, no matter what I do.
The plush furs beneath my feet and the smell of burning coals wrinkle my nose as I round the crack that is the entrance to our chambers. Of course, our room pales compared to the so-called War Chieftain’s grand quarters.
Ugh, please. It’s such horse shit—our smaller room—his lies. I hear what the aliens mutter between the rituals; they wanted Dracoth to lose, they prayed for it. How can he lead when his own people don’t even want him? Now that I think about it, he’s just like every politician back home.
I spot Sandra curled up on the massive pile of furs that makes up our bed, breathing softly. It won’t be long before she wakes up, complaining about the heat, begging to go near the entrance where it’s cooler. Unlike me, she’s suffering in this place. I feel bad for her—extra bad after whatever happened between herand Dracoth. She hasn’t said a word, but her wet, raw eyes were enough.
Last night, I woke up to the sound of Sandra crying. I shake my head just thinking about it. I mean, Itriedto warn the silly woman that Dracoth is a confused virgin. All tangled up in his gigantic stupid head, twisted like a giant red pretzel—extra salty. But does anyone listen to me? Of course not. They’d rather jump naked into steamy pools and get their hearts broken. At least it wasn’t her body. I shudder at the thought.
I’m not going to lie, though—I want to wake her up to get the gossip. Pretty sure with some gentle coaxing, she’ll spill the juicy details. It’s for her own good. She’ll feel better getting it off her chest. Without me, she’ll bottle it all up until she’s like an over-shaken can of Sunkist, ready to explode.
Besides, what else is there to do? The giant bore left this morning to ‘recruit warriors.’ Yeah, good luck with that. Knowing him, he’ll probably lose more warriors than he recruits. Honestly, how did my life of luxury go from being abducted by a monstrous alien for some creepy intergalactic marriage to fighting over a bewildered virgin? It’s absurd.
Well, whatever. I’m over it.
Ugh, I’m bored now. I sneak over to Sandra’s side of the bed and carefully tug at the furs covering her. She groans and flails a hand, almost slapping mine.
Nice and quiet.
I give the furs another sharp yank, jolting her awake. Her eyes creep open, sending my heart leaping into panic.
Did she catch me? Oh shit!
I dart to my pile of clothes, pretending to look busy.
“Lexie?” she mutters, her voice thick with sleep.
“Oh!” I exclaim with exaggerated surprise. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I was just getting dressed.”
“Huh?” She rubs the exhaustion from her raw, swollen eyes. “I thought you’d left already… what time is it?”
My chest tightens—my clever ruse almost discovered. “It’s time to get up,” I reply, hastily rummaging through Sandra’s clothes, selecting the least gnomish offerings. “You know the giant bore is away, right?” I say excitedly, hoping this might be the wedge of moldy cheese to bait Sandra into spilling her guts.
She doesn’t share my enthusiasm. Quite the opposite. Instead, she groans, cringing deeper under the furs.
“Went that well, huh?” I say, hopping onto the bed beside her. I toss some clothes over her like a veil of misery. “Here, put these on.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sandra grumbles bitterly from beneath the covers, her words threatening to sour my good mood. But I’ll get it out of her eventually. I rub her back, making soothing noises.
“Thanks, Lexie...” she mutters, her voice muffled.
“Shit! We’re supposed to meet that farmer guy!” She suddenly jolts upright like she’s been electrocuted.
I recoil at her sudden movement—and the horror that I’m ‘supposed’to do anything dirt-related.
