YMIDEN 43, 723
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Kotton hadn’t spoken to his uncle in a long time. His father had suggested it would be nice of him to do so. Getting in touch with relatives he hadn’t seen in a while was good for his soul, apparenly. Upon hearing his father tell him this, Kotton fought the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t exactly close with any of his extended family. Hell, he wasn’t even that close with his own father. No one was exactly blood related, so that tended to create a slight block in the road of things. But, he was a considerate individual, someone who would feel ridiculously terrible if he didn’t at least try. He was even the type to eat broccoli for the first time before giving it a bad rating.
So here he was at his uncle’s abode, with his hand in a fist, it resting gently on the front door. He hesitated, not wanting to knock, not wanting to see or speak to this man he hadn’t seen in over a decade. But if he didn’t at least attempt to make a connection with him, Kotton’s father would know and disappointment would form new creases on his already wrinkled face.
The young man held his breath and brought his fist back. He knocked several times, waiting for what felt like hours in anticipation until the rickety wooden door opened. There, it revealed a short man with an enormous gut. Kotton wondered whether the man could touch his toes, much less see them. A beard framed his thick face, which if there had not been, would have probably exposed a gelatinous mass of fatty flesh.
Kotton kicked himself for subconsciously thinking this. Don't be a dick, he reprimanded.
“Kotton?” the man inquired, not quite sure if the young boy in front of him was indeed the boy from over ten years ago. Kotton's uncle's eyes were a dark blue; thick brown eyebrows sheltered them from a massive forehead that was pock marked from years of adult acne.
“The one an’ only,” Kotton replied with a forced smile.
His uncle’s eyes lit up with excitement, his arms opening wide into a welcoming gesture Kotton knew to mean ‘I’m going to give you a big bear hug and you’re going to have to tolerate it’. Sure enough, he was quickly ensconced in sweaty arms, foul body odour and a mask of hair.
“It’s so good to see you again, lad!”
“I’s great to see you again too, uncuw…”
“Please,” Kotton’s uncle interrupted, saving him from a moment of embarrassment at forgetting what the man’s name was. “Call me Jorge.”
Kotton was tentative at first, not quite liking the way the name felt on his tongue. It felt so foreign to him. He began to overthink- what if this guy wasn’t really his uncle and he had found himself on the wrong end of the porch of a serial killer? He threw his head from side to side to rid himself of such outlandish thoughts before continuing. The consequential, yet relieving, crack of his neck was just an added bonus.
“It’s great to meet you again, Jorge.”
His uncle was quick to notice things. “What’s wrong with your neck, buddy?”
But Kotton was quick to sway people’s worry. “Though’ dere was a bug.”
He felt comfortable enough speaking in front of this man even if just moments ago he felt completely and utterly estranged. However, Kotton knew his father had told Jorge all about his lack of hearing and his speech impediment. Therefore, he wasn’t concerned about being made fun of or criticised. And by the soft smile he was given, he was right to not worry.
“Come this way, lad,” Jorge said with a wave, turning to trek into his cramped abode.
There were papers everywhere- cans, containers, bits of fabric, leather, several rugs, buckets- was that an extra toilet seat cover in the corner there? The man had an infinite amount of matches strewn about the floor, definitely not the safest thing to have lying around. Wooden planks were stacked up against the walls, a couch was piled high with weapons of all varieties. There were shears, a shovel, a hoe, several bows coupled with matching arrows, a shuriken that reminded Kotton of theatre portrayals involving stealthy, black-clad women. There were empty bottles of beer, screws, a few nuts and bolts, a pelt that looked like it belonged to a rabbit at one time.
Kotton trailed slowly behind his uncle as they manoeuvred further into the house. There were several cartons filled with flint and steel, many lengths of blue tarp, a bear trap (thankfully not set) and a few dozen books piled up high toward the ceiling. Kotton’s eyebrows sent themselves down toward his nose with concern. Was this man some sort of hoarder? He delicately touched a spear that appeared to have some dark substance stained on its tip before Jorge interrupted.
“Don’t touch that!”
Kotton’s fingers had never recoiled faster.
“Sorry,” his uncle apologised, “I just haven’t gotten around to cleaning that yet.”
Yep, definitely blood, probably from a fishing trip of some sort, he hoped. Or maybe it was poison. He felt it best to keep his hands to himself after that.
Against the far wall, Kotton observed various strips of hanging meat- drying, he assumed. There were a multitude of fruit flies buzzing around them, but not nearly as many as what buzzed around a can of worms and dirt.
Kotton’s stomach flipped. He held his hand to his mouth, trying to stave off the putrid smell that started to waft into his nostrils.No, no, get back!
“Alright,” his uncle said finally, taking a seat at a rotten table that Kotton assumed to be the dining table.
He let his hand drop from his nose immediately. He didn’t want his uncle to see his rudeness. He was here to strengthen a connection, not dispose of it completley. He promptly took a seat next to Jorge before twiddling his thumbs with both boredom and anxiety.
“There’s something coming,” Jorge said with wide eyes. “Something bad.”
Woah, that was a random turn of events, but okay.
An immediate sense of dread crept up Kotton’s back. It made him squirm at the cold touch left in its wake. “Wha’ you mean?”
Jorge leant forward, as low as his ginormous stomach would allow before it touched the edge of the table. “I am certain there is either a war or a plague or some other natural disaster that will ravage this world.”
Kotton furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He also sucked in a deep breath, one that was shrouded in doubt.
It was impressive how fast his uncle could move. In one blink, the man was standing, reaching for a top shelf and bringing down an object Kotton was not familiar with. The next, he was setting the strange contraption down on the table between them.
“Y’know what this is?”
Kotton scrunched his eyebrows and shook his head. He didn't know what half the shit in the house was or why it was still here.
His uncle continued, “this is a pressure weight sensor meant for bears. But it can be used for really anything, including people.”
Kotton inwardly gasped, not sure if what he was being told was a form of lunacy, paranoia, clairvoyance or precaution. He looked at the mechanism- there was a thin layer of rust forming around the edges of the metal, and the middle portion looked so sharp, he swore that just by gazing at it, he could contract some sort of disease.
“If a plague washes amongst our people and renders them absent-minded, I am ready to render them motionless.”
Wait- did this man think the dead would rise to take over the world?
Suddenly, his uncle reached for another item atop the highest shelf. He brought down what appeared to be a metal rack with a mass of leaves glued to the outside rungs. The metal rack was flat, and seemed flimsy, the leaves glued on in a hasty manner. It was large enough so as to reflect the circumference of his own chest.
“This is a false pile of leaves,” said his uncle. Kotton had already made this realisation, but continued to act enthralled so as to encourage his relative’s enthusiasm. “I dig a whole,” his uncle continued, spitting on the table with an immense act of eagerness. “I place this on the opening of the whole, and once someone comes by and steps on it, it falls, along with the person, into the hole. Boom- trapped.”
Kotton looked to the side, eyebrows still drawn downwards. Well... he couldn’t quite make of what he was feeling right now; so many emotions sloshed around in his skull. He was impressed, confused, frightened, and a little bit sad that his uncle was so overwhelmed with such an intense sense of wariness. Was this what he had been doing for so many years? Hoarding objects, resisting the need to clean and organise, instead turning to crafting survival equipment for a day of doom that may never come?
Regardless of the reason for his uncle's unnatural behaviour, Kotton kept on taking notes. He may not need these ideas for a day when the undead would rise to overtake the world, but he may want to utilise these strategies if he were ever to go hunting.
“Tha’s weally cweative, uncle,” the young man spoke after a time of deep contemplation.
Jorge smiled and nodded his head frantically. He seemed pleased that his ideas had yet to be dismissed. However...
Realising how strange he may have seemed, he stopped abruptly and leant back in his chair to take a breather. He was just so excited to share his revelations with someone he thought might understand. But doubts always crept in those with inventive personalities.
Sensing the sudden unease and not knowing whether to cease the conversation or press on, Kotton formulated a plan. He liked learning about what his uncle had created, the conspiracies he conjured, and the plans he had devised. Even if it was wrong to encourage such crazed behaviour, the man was drawn to such passion. Thus, Kotton asked, “do you have anyfing else?”
Jorge’'s body seemed to relax and his smile increased tenfold; it seemed to glow amidst the dark, stagnant room in which they sat “In fact, I do.” He reached yet again for another shelf, this time not quite so high, and pulled another contraption down. This one appeared to be something that consisted of a flat surface covered with bait. A sticky material coated the surface (he could tell from the way his uncle had to use force to remove his fingers from the places he touched), requiring Kotton yet again to predict what its use was for.
“A trap,” began Jorge, all too ecstatic to present another masterpiece. “It’s purpose is to catch rodents and other diabolical pests, but if I were to make one big enough, I’m sure to be able to catch beasts of great size.”
This day just kept getting weirder and weirder, and eventually, Kotton had had enough. He had taken everything he had been shown into account, stashing the information away into the far recesses of his brain, but his mind had a limit. Everyone's did. He could only understand so much before he needed time to decompress.
“Tha’s amazing, uncle, but my fathew said I should be home awound this time.” A lie, but a necessary one.
Jorge’s smile dropped instantly, but an inkling of understanding quickly took hold. “Alright,” he murmured, promptly putting away his latest piece of equipment. “I hope your father lets you come over again soon.”
Kotton was shown the front door again, a requirement seeing as how much clutter had obstructed and confused his path into the house.
“See you soon.” The young man waved and feigned a smile before turning his back to the flavourful and incredibly buoyant character that was his uncle.
That man had definitely seen better days, he thought, as he continued to contemplate the use of traps and other devices.
So here he was at his uncle’s abode, with his hand in a fist, it resting gently on the front door. He hesitated, not wanting to knock, not wanting to see or speak to this man he hadn’t seen in over a decade. But if he didn’t at least attempt to make a connection with him, Kotton’s father would know and disappointment would form new creases on his already wrinkled face.
The young man held his breath and brought his fist back. He knocked several times, waiting for what felt like hours in anticipation until the rickety wooden door opened. There, it revealed a short man with an enormous gut. Kotton wondered whether the man could touch his toes, much less see them. A beard framed his thick face, which if there had not been, would have probably exposed a gelatinous mass of fatty flesh.
Kotton kicked himself for subconsciously thinking this. Don't be a dick, he reprimanded.
“Kotton?” the man inquired, not quite sure if the young boy in front of him was indeed the boy from over ten years ago. Kotton's uncle's eyes were a dark blue; thick brown eyebrows sheltered them from a massive forehead that was pock marked from years of adult acne.
“The one an’ only,” Kotton replied with a forced smile.
His uncle’s eyes lit up with excitement, his arms opening wide into a welcoming gesture Kotton knew to mean ‘I’m going to give you a big bear hug and you’re going to have to tolerate it’. Sure enough, he was quickly ensconced in sweaty arms, foul body odour and a mask of hair.
“It’s so good to see you again, lad!”
“I’s great to see you again too, uncuw…”
“Please,” Kotton’s uncle interrupted, saving him from a moment of embarrassment at forgetting what the man’s name was. “Call me Jorge.”
Kotton was tentative at first, not quite liking the way the name felt on his tongue. It felt so foreign to him. He began to overthink- what if this guy wasn’t really his uncle and he had found himself on the wrong end of the porch of a serial killer? He threw his head from side to side to rid himself of such outlandish thoughts before continuing. The consequential, yet relieving, crack of his neck was just an added bonus.
“It’s great to meet you again, Jorge.”
His uncle was quick to notice things. “What’s wrong with your neck, buddy?”
But Kotton was quick to sway people’s worry. “Though’ dere was a bug.”
He felt comfortable enough speaking in front of this man even if just moments ago he felt completely and utterly estranged. However, Kotton knew his father had told Jorge all about his lack of hearing and his speech impediment. Therefore, he wasn’t concerned about being made fun of or criticised. And by the soft smile he was given, he was right to not worry.
“Come this way, lad,” Jorge said with a wave, turning to trek into his cramped abode.
There were papers everywhere- cans, containers, bits of fabric, leather, several rugs, buckets- was that an extra toilet seat cover in the corner there? The man had an infinite amount of matches strewn about the floor, definitely not the safest thing to have lying around. Wooden planks were stacked up against the walls, a couch was piled high with weapons of all varieties. There were shears, a shovel, a hoe, several bows coupled with matching arrows, a shuriken that reminded Kotton of theatre portrayals involving stealthy, black-clad women. There were empty bottles of beer, screws, a few nuts and bolts, a pelt that looked like it belonged to a rabbit at one time.
Kotton trailed slowly behind his uncle as they manoeuvred further into the house. There were several cartons filled with flint and steel, many lengths of blue tarp, a bear trap (thankfully not set) and a few dozen books piled up high toward the ceiling. Kotton’s eyebrows sent themselves down toward his nose with concern. Was this man some sort of hoarder? He delicately touched a spear that appeared to have some dark substance stained on its tip before Jorge interrupted.
“Don’t touch that!”
Kotton’s fingers had never recoiled faster.
“Sorry,” his uncle apologised, “I just haven’t gotten around to cleaning that yet.”
Yep, definitely blood, probably from a fishing trip of some sort, he hoped. Or maybe it was poison. He felt it best to keep his hands to himself after that.
Against the far wall, Kotton observed various strips of hanging meat- drying, he assumed. There were a multitude of fruit flies buzzing around them, but not nearly as many as what buzzed around a can of worms and dirt.
Kotton’s stomach flipped. He held his hand to his mouth, trying to stave off the putrid smell that started to waft into his nostrils.No, no, get back!
“Alright,” his uncle said finally, taking a seat at a rotten table that Kotton assumed to be the dining table.
He let his hand drop from his nose immediately. He didn’t want his uncle to see his rudeness. He was here to strengthen a connection, not dispose of it completley. He promptly took a seat next to Jorge before twiddling his thumbs with both boredom and anxiety.
“There’s something coming,” Jorge said with wide eyes. “Something bad.”
Woah, that was a random turn of events, but okay.
An immediate sense of dread crept up Kotton’s back. It made him squirm at the cold touch left in its wake. “Wha’ you mean?”
Jorge leant forward, as low as his ginormous stomach would allow before it touched the edge of the table. “I am certain there is either a war or a plague or some other natural disaster that will ravage this world.”
Kotton furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He also sucked in a deep breath, one that was shrouded in doubt.
It was impressive how fast his uncle could move. In one blink, the man was standing, reaching for a top shelf and bringing down an object Kotton was not familiar with. The next, he was setting the strange contraption down on the table between them.
“Y’know what this is?”
Kotton scrunched his eyebrows and shook his head. He didn't know what half the shit in the house was or why it was still here.
His uncle continued, “this is a pressure weight sensor meant for bears. But it can be used for really anything, including people.”
Kotton inwardly gasped, not sure if what he was being told was a form of lunacy, paranoia, clairvoyance or precaution. He looked at the mechanism- there was a thin layer of rust forming around the edges of the metal, and the middle portion looked so sharp, he swore that just by gazing at it, he could contract some sort of disease.
“If a plague washes amongst our people and renders them absent-minded, I am ready to render them motionless.”
Wait- did this man think the dead would rise to take over the world?
Suddenly, his uncle reached for another item atop the highest shelf. He brought down what appeared to be a metal rack with a mass of leaves glued to the outside rungs. The metal rack was flat, and seemed flimsy, the leaves glued on in a hasty manner. It was large enough so as to reflect the circumference of his own chest.
“This is a false pile of leaves,” said his uncle. Kotton had already made this realisation, but continued to act enthralled so as to encourage his relative’s enthusiasm. “I dig a whole,” his uncle continued, spitting on the table with an immense act of eagerness. “I place this on the opening of the whole, and once someone comes by and steps on it, it falls, along with the person, into the hole. Boom- trapped.”
Kotton looked to the side, eyebrows still drawn downwards. Well... he couldn’t quite make of what he was feeling right now; so many emotions sloshed around in his skull. He was impressed, confused, frightened, and a little bit sad that his uncle was so overwhelmed with such an intense sense of wariness. Was this what he had been doing for so many years? Hoarding objects, resisting the need to clean and organise, instead turning to crafting survival equipment for a day of doom that may never come?
Regardless of the reason for his uncle's unnatural behaviour, Kotton kept on taking notes. He may not need these ideas for a day when the undead would rise to overtake the world, but he may want to utilise these strategies if he were ever to go hunting.
“Tha’s weally cweative, uncle,” the young man spoke after a time of deep contemplation.
Jorge smiled and nodded his head frantically. He seemed pleased that his ideas had yet to be dismissed. However...
Realising how strange he may have seemed, he stopped abruptly and leant back in his chair to take a breather. He was just so excited to share his revelations with someone he thought might understand. But doubts always crept in those with inventive personalities.
Sensing the sudden unease and not knowing whether to cease the conversation or press on, Kotton formulated a plan. He liked learning about what his uncle had created, the conspiracies he conjured, and the plans he had devised. Even if it was wrong to encourage such crazed behaviour, the man was drawn to such passion. Thus, Kotton asked, “do you have anyfing else?”
Jorge’'s body seemed to relax and his smile increased tenfold; it seemed to glow amidst the dark, stagnant room in which they sat “In fact, I do.” He reached yet again for another shelf, this time not quite so high, and pulled another contraption down. This one appeared to be something that consisted of a flat surface covered with bait. A sticky material coated the surface (he could tell from the way his uncle had to use force to remove his fingers from the places he touched), requiring Kotton yet again to predict what its use was for.
“A trap,” began Jorge, all too ecstatic to present another masterpiece. “It’s purpose is to catch rodents and other diabolical pests, but if I were to make one big enough, I’m sure to be able to catch beasts of great size.”
This day just kept getting weirder and weirder, and eventually, Kotton had had enough. He had taken everything he had been shown into account, stashing the information away into the far recesses of his brain, but his mind had a limit. Everyone's did. He could only understand so much before he needed time to decompress.
“Tha’s amazing, uncle, but my fathew said I should be home awound this time.” A lie, but a necessary one.
Jorge’s smile dropped instantly, but an inkling of understanding quickly took hold. “Alright,” he murmured, promptly putting away his latest piece of equipment. “I hope your father lets you come over again soon.”
Kotton was shown the front door again, a requirement seeing as how much clutter had obstructed and confused his path into the house.
“See you soon.” The young man waved and feigned a smile before turning his back to the flavourful and incredibly buoyant character that was his uncle.
That man had definitely seen better days, he thought, as he continued to contemplate the use of traps and other devices.
