Neil

by Ferrum Requiem

Part Two

Author's Note:

Phew. Part two is done! As always, leave feedback, like and favorite if you want to see more later. I'm almost done with my semester; so, it might be a few weeks before part three is ready, easily.

Neil's cry for help echoed through the alien forest and across the surrounding misty hills. The birds fell silent as all stood still. His ear bursting howl created such a silence that a twig snap would carry undisturbed for miles. Nothing, not even the insects announced themselves after Neil's blood chilling plead. His shout died over the vastness of the deep green sea, leaving Neil immersed in a void of noiselessness, save for the savage pounding of his heart; suddenly, the entire forest surrounded and enclosed on him like a living vise. The silence, the lack of motion besides his own, sent chills up his spine. The forest, but a living host to the unseen hungry things, had no respite to offer the poor boy. He felt the beastly eyes of the wild set upon him in the moldy, dank, tepid, crawling, living, savage, hungry, silence. Then, the great living thing, having calculated, weighed and measured the life of the damaged little thing, revived back to its usual business. The birds chirped, sang, and the crows cawed. The insects rattled, screamed and clicked their usual mating calls. The trees swayed again with the fresh breeze. Even the brook resumed its babbling; but, no further consideration was given to the visceral helplessness of little Neil.

Frozen in terror, Neil watched blood ooze through his fingers from his leg and pool beneath his thigh. He pressed harder on the wound to stop the bleeding, in vain. His life sustaining warmth faded by the second; his nerves screamed danger as the reaper drew close with its cold skeletal hand extended. The boy frantically looked around again and again for signs of life. Tears falling and turning red as they stung the cuts on his cheeks, the sickening fear in his stomach overpowered his self-control. "I'm going to die here." He rasped, the words originating more from his inner plant than man.

There are three minds in the brains of men, according to Aristotle: the vegetable, the animal, and the human. The plant mind was focused solely on survival, primal needs, procreation and the base instincts required in these pursuits. The animal mind worked with emotions, family, seeking comfort, memory, etc. The human mind was the origin of reason, of thought, the port in the storm surrounded by the tempests of mad savage survival. It was the sharpener of tools, the shaper of will, the calculator of measurements, the forger of destiny, the weaver of dreams, the house of all man's accomplishment. In this house, man's potential was limited only by nature herself. That is why the plant mind grew its roots into the house of man, the cortex. The ever worrying, ever fearful, plant roots doubt and irrational temptation to control the man and his frightening potential. It seeds this in man with its own flavor of reason, a sweet false reason: think of all the things that crazy man upstairs could get into, it reasons; think of all the hungry beasts he would find, all the poisons he might eat, or all the bumps he may hear in the ever expanding night? It whispers sweetly, listen to me and stay safe; betray me and be swallowed by the shadows.

If man was a creature cradling a burning candle surrounded by the abyss of the unknown, the plant would have him stay sitting on his knees, staring right at the flame, safe in its light from all that creepeth in the dark. The animal would be quite content just with the warmth of the small lapping fire. Yet, the man would protest, unsatisfied. Simply being alive is not enough for the man. The abyss must be understood; it must be tamed, shaped, loved. A true man embodies nature; he must fill his abyss with her wonders, then set his hands free to do her work. A plant can only grow; an animal can only eat; but, it is the man that creates. Without that creation, the man suffers on his knees.

Overtaken by raw desperation, Neil turned away from his blood soaked injury and clawed at the dirt, the dead leaves and grass, pulling himself into a slow crawl. His instincts took over; he clawed and crawled away at the earth like a savage beast, leaving his leg to bleed freely. His mind went numb, drunk with fear, motivated only by the thought of finding help. Anyone, anywhere, he needed to find help.

Deep within the hormone intoxicated folds of Neil's mind, the roots of the plant grew at an alarming rate. The animal went to sleep, encapsulated by the plant; but, within the stronghold of his house, the man gasped at his situation. He cried out as the roots of the plant broke through his floors and walls, then burst out his celling and windows; like hungry serpents the roots feasted upon the lawful, the reasonable, and the beautiful. The house of reason was in grave danger within the mind of the very frightened boy. The man screamed at Neil to cease feeding the plant, but the roots were overtaking the boy's ears, eyes, and mouth. With each second spent in his futile escape attempt, the boy's life ebbed away. The plant was winning the war within and the false reason poured into Neil's mind like a wine sweetened with lead dust. The plant whispered he had no way of stopping the bleeding, no way to protect himself from any manner of hungry beast, no way to keep warm, no means of safety in the living eating green of the wild. He was just a boy, an injured, helpless, child. His only hope was to find help. He had to live; he didn't want to die, not here, not alone. Then, in the last moment, in the fortress of reason's darkest hour, the man's final outcry within his crumbling home reached through the encircling roots: Survive!

Neil twitched, halting in mid crawl. "Survive." It was such a simple word, yet more powerful than the finest speech by any general or leader. It brought memories of his research into ancient man and how, through sheer determination, they survived the untamed Earth, armed only with their bare hands and brains. How was his situation any different?

The man continued, Think and pull yourself together, boy! You are a descendent of those people! Do not throw your life away without a fight! You must live!

"Live." Neil breathed, calming himself and releasing the dirt from his grasp.

The man's logos forced its way through the unreasonable deftness, opening the boy's ears. Remember the Africans! He recalled on another memory. They built their ships on the shores of the vast Mediterranean, then crossed it and tamed the wilds of Europe! The plant mind gradually lost its hold on the house of man as he continued; They assuredly made bandages for their wounded! The man pointed Neil's attention to his leg. Stop the bleeding.

"Stop the bleeding." Neil blinked, his body loosened. He inspected his bloody torn shirt and quickly ripped free a shred; he pulled the impromptu dressing tightly over his wound and winced as the injury sealed. Finally, the blood loss waned, then stopped. Neil sighed in utter blissful relief. With that simple action, something miraculous clicked in Neil's brain. An untapped tide of will ignited within him and his focus sharpened introspectively. His mind regained its ground, despite the shock of nearly meeting the reaper. Stay calm. Neil took a few moments to process what happened and to breathe.

The pavilion of man stood, finally at its rightful place and forced the plant mind back into its dark center, locking it in place. A wave of clarity cleansed the toxic reason from the boy's mind and settled into an ordered state of thought. The man stood in his rebuilt home and marveled at its new architecture. For the first time, the plant could no longer impede upon Neil, nor halt his evolution. Instead, it could only serve his needs and no more. The man, surrounded by the abyss of the unknown, stood with his candle extended, finally free to live or die on his feet. Miraculously, the mind of the boy suddenly became beautiful.

After several minutes past, Neil tasted the dryness of his mouth. "Water." he rasped. The brook babbling nearby offered the solution to his thirst. Placing his hands down, he painfully pulled himself toward it. He crawled over the clearing and leaned to the brook's edge, overlooking a still pool. The rushing water had eroded a low pressure zone into the soft green mossy bank. The clear pool was still, like liquid glass. Staring at the cool fresh water, Neil hardly recognized his reflection. Bloodied cuts and swollen bruises tattooed his face. Emotions stirred butterflies into his stomach. Tears burned his eyes and he sniffled his running nose. Considering the incredible height he fell from, he should either be a human shish kabob, or a stain on the forest floor. "I'm a lucky bastard." he said to the reflection. The urge to drink overpowered his emotions and cleared the mind; Neil never felt so thirsty in his life. He dove his face into the cold brook, practically inhaling the water in furious gulps. Having filled himself, he let his head up, gasping for air and coughing harshly. Rolling to his back, he rested on the crisp bank and relaxed, letting the water do its work. Then, the hunger hit him. His stomach groaned and turned noisily. The cold water brought his hunger to life from the shadows and sharpened it.

"I've got to eat." He looked at his leg. The bandage was slick with still warm blood, but the primitive seal held fast. He tried to move it and the flare of pain that assaulted him made the idea of walking ludicrous. "How? I can hardly move." He sighed and lied back to think. Looking around, he saw a thick dead stick hanging over the bank, rooted in the soft soil. "Hmmm." He wondered if it would make a good crutch. He crawled to it, then tried to pull the stick free. It remained stubborn for the first few tries, but its rotten roots gave out and the stick pulled free. Neil placed the muddy end in the brook to clean it, then stuck the sharp end in the soil and pulled himself up. "Gah!" He yelped through his gritting teeth as he stumbled a few times; but, thanks to his new crutch, he put enough weight off his injured leg. Standing was finally tolerable. Grinning, Neil carefully limped back to the clearing.

He surveyed the clearing for something edible and spied a bush with red berries that resembled huckleberries. He picked a berry and inspected it, wondering if they were poisonous, or indeed huckleberries. He thought for a minute, then remembered reading how the cave men discovered edible wild foliage with the sample test. If the food in question made your lips or tongue tingle or go numb, it's definitely poison. He squished the tiny berry between his fingers and sampled a drop of juice on his tongue. It tasted tart and wasn't very sweet either. After a minute, his tongue felt fine. No tingles, or numbness. He bit the berry pulp, chewed a little, then spat it out and waited some more. Again, nothing happened. Feeling more secure, he popped a berry in his mouth and ate it. Neil sat down and counted to five minutes. Feeling no different, he figured they were huckleberries and thus safe. Eating them was rather laborious as the tartness made the underside of his tongue sting a little. All in all, they were pretty foul. It's quite possible they weren't in season yet, he reasoned; but, they were edible and that was enough.

Four handfuls of huckleberries later, the edge of his hunger softened. He slowly sat and rested his back on a tree. His mind raced with questions. Where was he? Or rather, where had he been taken to? The portal, wormhole, time-warp, or whatever it was, obviously transported him somewhere; but, where? He looked around at the forest, wondering if he was even on Earth anymore. That thought sent a shiver up his spine; yet, he doubted that hypothesis. Neil criticized the trees; they were normal trees. He tested the dirt between his fingers; it was average dirt. He scrutinized the sky; the sky was an ordinary blue, with predictable white happy fluffy clouds. He breathed in the air; obviously, the air was normal because he was still alive to test it. That posed the biggest problem; the air was breathable. The odds of a random alien planet having a nourishing atmosphere for a human were far too miniscule; Neil knew that much at least about astronomy. No, everything was normal. He was still on Earth, no doubt. But, where on Earth? Most importantly, was help coming? He did scream pretty loud before. Maybe somebody heard him? If not, how long could he hold out until he found rescue? He sighed and gently tackled with the notion that he might remain stranded for a while.

The contemplative boy rose to his feet and took a walk, to think and shrug off his encroaching panic attack. Neil limped down a small beaten path, watching some deer graze and bunnies hop away. When he got close to a tree, a squirrel cussed him out and ran up to a higher branch. He laughed, thinking, That was definitely an Earth squirrel. Neil wished he still possessed his school bag. It had his book on stone age survival techniques in it. If he just had that book, his situation might be bearable. Without it, he had to rely on his memory. He made stone tools for fun all the time; that wasn't the problem. It was the other skills like tracking, hunting, foraging and building that were fuzzy. Could he remember everything? That formed a pit in his stomach. The last time he applied the advanced stone age techniques was during a camping trip with his family two years ago. His train of thought broke when his neck hair stood on edge. He felt uneasy, like he was being watched. The limping teen froze on the path when the bushes rustled from behind. Neil's wide eyes probed the tree line for the source of the unsettling noise.

Two dim dots of green light glowed inside a shadowed bush.

Neil squinted at the strange anomaly. "What the-" he didn't get the chance to finish before the bush growled in response. Neil backed up, as a large creature slowly emerged from the thicket towards him. It resembled a living wooden carving of a wolf with glowing green eyes and clumps of moss growing on its body. It bared its wooden teeth at him and snarled. Its eyes narrowed as its wooden face expressed aggression like supple flesh.

What is that thing?! Neil's mind screamed as his world turned black and white. He slowly retreated back up the path. The wolf thing quickened its march after him. Neil limped faster away and the wolf rushed him. In a split decision, Neil used his stick as a weapon. He swatted the beast away, striking it on the head. It whimpered, then snarled and glared at him with murderous intent.

Neil raised his stick like a spear, then wished he had something sharp at the tip.

Furiously the wolf renewed its assault and leaped at him. Neil's impromptu weapon didn't have the power to stop the beast's momentum. It knocked the desperate boy down and snatched the stick between its jaws. It gnawed at it and pressed Neil into the soil. Its teeth tore gashes in the crutch. Neil knew it would break under such punishment. Then, to his horror, the stick cracked. The beast pushed harder, sensing Neil's only defense was failing. Before the stick gave in, Neil kicked to keep the beast back. Its chest taking the blow, just as the stick finally broke, the monster pushed on his leg while snapping its jaws at his face. Neil's knee was forced to his chest, as the beast's maw hovered just inches from his face; a nasty odor wafted from the wolf's mouth, like putrid mold.

Neil tried to shove it off, but it proved far too heavy. The abomination snatched his arm with its mouth and bit down. The scared boy felt teeth break skin and gnash flesh. With too much adrenaline coursing to feel the pain, he ripped his arm free, tearing shreds of blood stained cloth off his shirt. Neil screamed, "Fuck you!" then punched the beast which all his fight drunk might, which succeeded only in hurting his hand. Growling, the creature tried to bite his neck and finish him. Desperately, Neil searched the floor with his free hand, barely holding the beast back with the other. Before losing strength, his hand brushed a stone. Grabbing it, he smashed the wolf on the head. It yelped and backed off just enough for Neil to quickly crawl backwards some distance. It attacked again, but Neil struck the creature with another swipe of his blunt weapon, this time hitting its left eye. It shrieked, then ran back into the brush.

Neil dragged himself to a tree, then slumped back on it. Gripping the stone in his hand tightly, he exploded, "What in the actual fuck was that thing?!" Heart pounding inside his throat, he never felt so tired, or confused, in his life. Afraid it might return with help, he managed to use the tree and balance on his good leg. Now, every sound set his nerves on edge. He felt surrounded and exposed. "I've got to get back." The poor boy held the bleeding bite on his arm while limping back to the clearing, still riding his adrenal high. Finally at his camp site, he sat on a fallen log. His body couldn't stop trembling. He curled up into a ball and hugged himself to stop; slowly, his adrenaline waned and the full might of his injuries struck him like a slap to the face. Breathing heavy, his mind went numb. The injured boy stared blankly at the forest floor. After several minutes, his body loosened up and the shivering eased.

His bite wound throbbed and he knew his leg was bleeding again. Indeed, it was. He prepared a thicker bandage for his leg from his revenged shirt; then, he dressed his arm. After his new bandages were applied, he slumped to the floor, exhausted to no end. "I've lost too much blood." He felt like the color was draining from him and the world seemed a little grayer than usual. His mind processed the strange beastly attack and was unable to fathom how a wild wooden statue nearly killed him. That creature was not from Earth; Neil knew that. He wanted desperately to find a rational explanation, but it was futile. No way. That was some freaky twilight zone bullshit. He cursed his ever degrading luck, as he chewed on two immediate questions on his mind, What was that abomination? And, Where the hell am I? Neil realized that even if he was still on Earth, it didn't matter. Killer wolves made of wood aren't talked about on the nature channel, or anywhere. He reasoned, Earth or not, he was obviously stranded someplace that nobody had explored before. That revelation killed any hope remaining for rescue in the stranded youth. Neil took a deep breath and concluded he was the first Human to step foot in this misbegotten forest; thus, he was all alone, completely, without any reason to think he would ever be found. He had to rely only on himself in this hostile place, if he wished to live long.

Neil glanced up to the canopy, hoping to see the sun. Instead, he saw a yellow blob dangling in the high branches. Squinting, he gasped. "My school bag!! With renewed vigor, he quickly snatched up some rocks and threw them at the bag. But, it remained stuck. "Damn it." He got a bigger rock. "Get down here!" He yelled and missed with the heavier stone to his exasperation. He sighed. His body was just too weak to make the shot. Determined to reclaim the school bag, Neil scooted closer to it and saw it held on literally by its strap. It shouldn't be that hard to bring down, he thought, I need an edge. Renewing his attack, the determined boy slowly got to his knees and just sat like that, waiting for the waves of pain in his poor leg to subside. With the pain at a bearable level, he snatched a new stone, aimed like he was throwing a football, then tossed it as hard as he could at his target. The stone hit the mark. The bag swung a little, then fell to the soft soil.

Neil threw his arms up in pure joy. "Yes-ow!" He jerked his injured arm down, cradling the bite mark bleeding through the rag dressings. Neil got a good look at himself and laughed. He felt and looked like a feces frappé. He crawled towards the bag and promptly opened it. He took the medical kit his mom insisted he keep in store and smiled wide. He was so thankful to have something, anything, from home. Placing it aside, he searched for his stone age survival book, On Becoming A Caveman. He stopped rummaging through his bag, then looked up solemnly. Home. In that moment, the full weight of what happened came crashing in. Now that he had something from home as an anchor, he hugged himself. Home. He couldn't keep it bottled in anymore. He broke down into his own arms, soaking his sorry excuse for a shirt in tears. He never wanted to go home more in his life. The intensity which he missed his family made him sick. He would never again complain about taking out the trash, or running errands of any kind. He wished against logic that this was all just a nightmare and mom would wake him up in his messy room to take the trash out. Neil vowed he would jump out of bed and give his mom the closest most endearing hug he could possible muster, then take out all the trash, do all the dishes and clean all the rooms, forever, if only he could just go home. He rested his head on his palms and took a deep breath in. Feeling a little better after venting his system, he wiped his eyes dry, blew his nose on a shred of shirt, composed himself, then continued searching for the book.

Upon finding the book, he also pulled out the remnant of his lunch from last evening: a banana, an apple juice box and two fruit rolls. "I'll eat for weeks!" He sighed, then bit the banana. "Okay, I'm stuck here," he said between chews, "I need a game plan." For instance, he thought, what if more of those things come back? He held his stomach as it grumbled, clearly not satisfied by the meager banana just offered. He held up the book, staring at its title, On Becoming A Caveman. This book was a special single volume work the author composed by combining two of his other essays, On The Survival Skills Of Cavemen and On The Technologies Of The Stone Age. He did this to sell the world's first survival manual centered around mastering a stone age lifestyle, its tactics and technology.

Neil glared at his favorite book while seriously considering the limitations of his available tools:

One protractor;

One compass for making circles on paper;

Seven pencils;

Three pens;

One Ti-84 calculator;

Two tubes of crazy glue;

A metal lunch box;

An apple juice box;

Two fruit rolls;

Some bubble gum;

One toothbrush;

A box of floss;

A small first aid kit. Thank you, mom;

Three text pads with school notes in them;

One scarf;

A small book on identifying edible and medicinal fauna, in addition to the book On Becoming A Caveman, both he used in his history presentation;

One fresh button up plaid shirt, to his relief;

One Pair of clean jeans. Thank god;

Two dollars in quarters, for the boat man;

His wallet filled with useless cards and paper money;

One ravaged shirt;

One pair of bloody jeans;

An old pair of diesel shoes;

And, one seriously screwed Human.

Thankfully, after having to deal with Blake and his crap for what felt like half his life, Neil learned to travel heavy and prepare for the worst ahead of time. Neil laughed at the astoundingly ridiculous realization that Blake's influence inadvertently made Neil's disastrous day just a little easier. Neil's smile soured into a slow frown. He didn't have much to work with. If he wished to survive, he had to master the arts of his stone age ancestors, to reawaken the power of rock, wood, and bone. What else was he supposed to do? He had no knife, no matches for fire, no actual tools of any kind. He had the river for clean water and some berries, but that's not much to live on. Understanding his situation, he slowly got up to crawl. He ate some more huckleberries, then went to drink from the brook. As he drank, a fish swam by. The brook, at its deepest, seemed like two feet; he watched a school of brook trout fight the moderate current. He imagined one cooking on a fire and his stomach grumbled.

Neil loved fishing, or fish in general. His father would take him on fishing trips once every year; and, god, he would trade anything for a rod and some bait right now. If only he could catch just one trout, his hunger pains might stop. He looked around for ideas. Maybe if he sharpened a stick and made a spear? One problem with that idea: he needed a knife to make one. He returned to his would-be campsite and opened On Becoming A Caveman for a refresher on the special stones required for tool making. Neil turned to chapter one, reading with a smile:

On Becoming A Caveman, by Manley Irons:

Chapter One: Making Stone Tools:

It all began with the knife. A simple stone flake sharp enough to cut hide snowballed into a hunting party armed with spears, flint arrows, and knives. Great mammoths and predators alike trembled before the hunter and his mighty spear. So, it's fair to continue the tradition and begin with making our first knife. Make no mistake, no tool will ever give you control over nature; the purpose of the tool is to shape her processes to work around you, even with you. In this chapter, you will learn the art of taming the untamed by way of the tool. Only by mastering the art of tool making will you take your first step in surviving the wild.

"Ah, I need either quartz, agate, obsidian, or flint. Flint and quartz should be common enough." Neil put the book down and inspected the brook's pebble shoreline. The one legged boy couldn't walk with his crutch gone. First, he had to find a new walking stick. He looked around carefully and spied a viable replacement near the tree line, a large forked broken branch. Slowly, he took the branch and broke off the twigs and sticks. It wasn't as nice as the last one; but, it worked. Neil stood, returned to the shoreline and gathered some blade shaped white and brown stones. He sat himself on a stone by the shore and got to work. He needed to take a simple rounded rock called a hammer and chip away the material to get a sharp edge. Neil took a rough flint blade and gave it a good strike with his hammer. Sure enough, a flake came free. It had a fine sharp edge and point, a Neolithic razor. He worked more flakes off his knife and soon had his edge; all that remained was to knap it. Knapping gives a saw toothed edge which added strength and longevity to a blade. Plus, it looked awesome. After an hour of work, he had a fine edged blade that resembled an arrowhead the length of his middle finger. He needed two more things to complete the knife: a handle and cordage to assemble all the pieces.

Neil left the shoreline in search of a nice thick stick. Naturally, the forest floor was full of them; wincing as he knelt down for one, he heard some noise from the thickets nearby. His full attention snapped at the tree line. He stayed there, kneeling on the fallen leaves and cool earth, listening, hoping it was just the wind. Several minutes passed; the sound did not return. Cautiously, he sat back down at his work station beside the brook and worked while taking quick glances at the trees and thickets for movement. He made himself a stone chisel from some basalt, clumsy as it was, it worked. Cutting a good piece off the stick with the chisel was easy, but the rest proved to be quite difficult and time consuming. He had to slowly whittle the wood down using the chisel and several quartz razors to smooth the surface, saving the flint blades for the knife to be. Neil's hands were raw and tired before long; he had yet made lashings and already he needed a break, to his dismay.

Neil sucked it up and continued to whittle the stick down to a somewhat handle shape. Satisfied, he placed a flint flake in the middle of the handle and split it, then gently pulled it apart a little more by hand. He placed the knapped blade in the gap and grinned at the results of his first attempt at a stone knife.

"Great. I just need cordage." Neil required saplings, long grass, or vine for cordage. He looked out to the forest, then to his bum leg. Limping around the clearing was one thing, but through the woods to get saplings with those wooden things out there? "No way." He shook his head. "Not without a weapon." He had no tall grass in the clearing, nor any vines. Sighing, he made lashings out of shreds from his tattered shirt. He dulled the sharp butt of the blade to keep the lashings safe and tied a small nice knot. He slyly used some of his crazy glue to make the bond stronger. Neil wiggled the blade on its handle and laughed joyously when it felt solid and sharp. All he had to do was use this same technique to make a spear. Now, he could fashion a sharp stick to spear fish. With his knife, chisel and hammer, he had the beginnings of something good: he could build, defend himself and eventually hunt game bigger than fish. Things were finally looking up for Neil, until the bushes parted behind him, making a loud noise. Neil jumped, turned his head to the noise and saw a pair of those terrifying green glowing eyes staring right back at him.

Comments

[0]

'Twas good. I require more.

[Ferrum Requiem]

7749328

I agree: sapient sounds much better.

[Ferrum Requiem]

7749330

Alright. Done! It was unnecessary anyway.

[Ferrum Requiem]

To anyone that dislikes this story because the publish button is located next to the edit button, I hope you all get hugged by Skunk Ape!

I am currently writing part three and I may have to write this in a word doc, or something; as, right now, FiMficiton's writing system is shafting me hard with that damn publish button!

Sorry if anyone returned here thinking part three was ready. Or, even worse, read part three while I'm writing it! Naturally, it's quite unfinished. Be patient. It's not like I planned for this to happen.

[Raistlin]

7854849

So, the Equestrian explorer sent to observe humanity evolution into a higher state of being... accidentally forced a human to "devolve" himself into a primitive caveman in order to survive?

[josue]

7854849 need more love I mean chapters I need more please

[Ferrum Requiem]

7855133

All will be answered in time.