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// A Pathetic Start 
// Story: The Pathetic Lord of Hints! 
// by SoothingCoffee 
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         Let me ask you a question: If you one day wake up, and then find that you’re wearing the skin of someone you only knew beforehand as only fiction, alongside with every single detail of that character’s life. How would you feel? Ecstatic? Confused? Disgusted?

I felt devastated.

Now, let me tell you first about me. I was a simple guy with a simple need. I wake up, check the internet, get washed, dressed, go to work, go to home, open up my desktop and then sleep. Sometimes, I would put some variations in between. Like going to the mall just to walk, frequent that coffee shop near my home, or just go for a walk. Not just those, of course, but things of the equivalent variation. 

I was not a sociopath nor was I a psychopath. I could feel emotions. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I whoop in joy. I feel guilt when I do something wrong, and I always try to divert that guilt to somebody else, because I dislike dealing with guilt. I lie, but not often, because lies are meant to be used scarcely. I prefer honesty, because honesty is simple. You may hurt others, but it’s the least action that takes effort. I love my family, even if my brother could be a dick, and even if my big sister could be a nagging bitch. But I would do anything for them if they’re in need of some help.

And without even trying, I had crushed Terry Hintz, the Lord of Hints, from taking control of his own body.

Oh, it’s not a conscious effort, to be sure. It’s an instinctive thing, like trying to open your eyes when you just woke up from a deep slumber. There's always a bit of struggle in trying to get rid of the sleep and crusts from your eyes, but it's something you would easily do in every day. Something trivial, to be specific.

Of course, it’s not hard to figure out the why. Awesome and cool as he was—at this, I could feel something small warming up inside me—, Terry was pathetic—then that something dimmed considerably. And not only that, I could feel my memory of him ‘betraying Brad’, and his memory of him betraying Bard clashed, before immediately converging. Brad was Terry’s friend. His friend since… forever. He expected Brad to betray him. 

Not as loud as his own boisterous ‘mask’, of course. Just a tiny whisper, so tiny that I had to actually focus in on myself to here it, but it was there. Shame and regrets twirled together in a knot like they were a married couple. Self-pity and disgusting rolling off in waves. I could understand it, really. Doubly so when I shared memories with him.

When he had forced himself to join Brad, he had expected the worst of him just like he had expected the worst of himself. He expected—believed—that Brad would sacrifice him, abandon him, or just sell him. But he didn't. Instead, every time Terry found himself in a trouble, Brad always came through to help him. When Buzzo came with his twisted games, and when he found himself kidnapped. 

In that journey Terry followed Brad through the deserted land of Olathe, he had became his best friend. Well, at least for Terry, Brad was his best friend.

And then when Brad needed him, Terry betrayed him.

And for what? For the world? The world was wounded when the women were gone. The world was crippled when people were taking Joy pills. The world dying doomed when the mutated monsters came in. And the world too far from saving when the men would go to the extend of raping a little girl, willing or not.

Terry wanted a friend. He got it. And he threw it away trying to save the already doomed world. Terry was pathetic, and he felt himself so. I found myself believing, awesome and cool as he was.

And now, I was that pathetic person.


()_()_()


I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, belly-flopped on the ground. Maybe hours, but definitely not days. Though how many hours, I didn’t know. I simply felt tired and depressed, and such was the curse of being Terry Hintz—upon that thought, I felt something cooling inside me.

But I knew the futility of what I was doing. I didn’t like sulking and brooding; they’re like a whirlpool leading to the abyss of unknown, sucking you in with misery. When you realize what it had done to you, it would be simply all too late. They are also utterly useless. 

So, with a groan of a voice that wasn’t mine, but of Terry Hintz, I rolled over to my back. I stared at the sky; from my the edge of my peripherals, I saw fertile green plants and grasses. Idly, almost lazily, I realized that I was not in Olathe. Something inside me beeped in surprise at that.

I did the same, and blinked. A thought enters that this may be the world that Buddy has managed to create, but that thought was dashed away almost immediately. Regardless of how powerful Buddy was, she was no god. Good at killing? Sure. Good at being a murderhobo and drug-addled girl? Yes. But I was quite sure they Joy didn't give her an omnipotent superpower. Olathe was a hellhole, and it was beyond saving, even with its inhabitants killed.

Something—what remained of Terry Hintz, I thought—inside me agreed with that thought. 

I took in a deep breath, and almost choke on my own spit as I smelled my body’s odor. God’s sake, that’s awful. I wondered when was the last time Terry Hintz actually took a bath. The answer came quickly: Ten years. Or at least, around ten years. 

Blanching and gagging, I pushed it all down. I Sighed, placing both of my palms over my face. Terry’s face. It felt weird; rough and strangely shaped. Big nose. Small eyes. Wrinkly face. I shuddered. Before this, I was a healthy twenty-four years old man; now I’m thirty something old man. Granted, he’s fit; god knows you got to be when you can do a dance that could burn people. But it’s no less unnerving.

I bared with it, though, shuddering as I explored Terry’s rough face, trying my damndest to get used to it. Perhaps if I wore the skin of someone else, it wouldn’t disturb me much—well, that would be a lie. Even if by some circumstance that I was stuck in other people’s skin—and disregarding that my will would be crushed nigh immediately—, it would still be greatly unnerving. There’s a reason why I never considered ever having a plastic surgery despite my not-so perfect facial.

I sighed again, letting my hands fall to my side as I rose to sit. “Well,” I said, a rather high-pitched noise with a rough scratchiness underneath—all the very epitome of patheticness—came out instead of my original considerably deep voice. I expected it, but it was nevertheless uncomfortable. I relished in the fact that I still remained that fake-British accent resulted in having a British English teacher. “It could’ve been worse.”

Yes, I realized soon thereafter that I just jinxed myself. But I didn’t particularly care. I found my eyes distracted by the nature surrounding me, tall green trees, green grasses, colorful flowers. I took a deep breath, this time without Terry’s stank, and the memories of Olathe from Terry’s made me appreciate the cool clean air more.

My stomach proceeded to rumble, and I decided then that I needed to eat. Of course, it was easier said than done. Stretching my body, and finding it disappointingly inflexible, I took a random direction and started from there. The chance of encountering a deadly animal never crossed my mind until I heard a howl coming deep within my direction. 

I froze in track, sweat forming on my pores. After a moment of making sure I wasn’t getting mauled to an early death, I decided that maybe I was taking the wrong route and turned around. The Terry inside me trembled at the thought of encountering a wolf, the worser version of a dog. Then it reminded me of his betrayal against Brad, and then I felt like a heavy weight was dropped over my shoulders. I got the sense of it apologizing, but it didn’t help my worsened mood any more.

And so I trudged through whatever forest I was in. Had I remembered those lessons I took as a boy scout, I would probably know a way or two on how to find a way out. I could read a compass, true, but alas, I had no compass. Rifling into my pockets, I found some crumpled paper notes, and two pens. 

A sudden urge to write encompassed from deep within, but I pushed it away. I was in no mood of writing useless hints that would probably act as a diary when nobody was going to read them. Not in this forest, that’s for sure.

So I trudged once more. Some indeterminable time passed, and I was glad that Terry was no slouch in fitness department. Awesome and pathetic as he was, he was still the same man that could burn people with his dance. Somehow, I knew I could do the same dance, but I doubted that it was any better than his. Still, it was nice to know that there’s some part of my old body that carried over to this one. 

Then I finally encountered civilization. It was unlike any others I had seen. It’s a small village, one that reminded me of the old Medieval era. Hay-thatched roofed buildings, and brick buildings placed intermittently between each other. Once in awhile, there would be some oddly designed buildings, but my eyes weren’t focused on the odd architectures.

No. Not on them. But rather, they were focused on the… ponies mingling about. They stared at me, and I stared at them. Belatedly, I realized that I was in the middle of said village.

We stared at each other. 

Tentatively, I waved my hand at them, smiling despite myself. I must’ve looked so pathetic that one of them took pity and decided to wave back at me.

Something slipped over me, like a familiar worn mask. I may not be Terry Hintz, and I couldn’t be Terry Hintz, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t act like Terry Hintz. And if there’s something I knew about Terry Hintz, he’s charmingly pathetic in his own unique way. 

“Hello!” I started boisterously, crossing my arms over my chest as I grinned genially. “I’m Elliot Hintz, the Lord of Hints! I have come from lands far away with tips and hints to freely share with you kind folks!”