bim bam bum
Coming back to consciousness was weird. He was in the weird state of mind that in his unconsciousness he had blissfully forgotten all about the conundrum and destitute situation that his current life was in and had lapsed into an odd but pleasurable alternate reality. But he was not in a canoe and there was no river of milk.
Jonas sat up and touched his forehead where a bump had now been added to his forehead. He winced and thought to himself that perhaps his obsession with milk was going a bit to far. Perhaps he had already lost his mind and the knock on the head had brought him back to his senses.
But ... he still wanted milk.
He stood up slowly in the dark store and looked around. There was no bum to be seen, he quickly checked himself for stab-wounds and sighed in relief.
It had become dark out, but he could see some light from outside the 7/Eleven and so he crawled out through the hole in the glass. Out there in the middle of the walking-street, was the bum, squatting in front of a little fire that was well under way. the bum looked over his shoulder and spotted Jonas, he did not seem to care and idly returned to stoking the fire.
Jonas stumbled a bit and took the hint, beginning to walk off down the road.
"HEY - where you think you going maybe?!" the bum's raspy voice rang out. Jonas turned.
"Home I think."
"How about you stay here - it dark now out here. Best to stay here to the morning." The bum said and waved him over. Jonas thought to himself that this bum probably had changed his mind while he had been unconscious and wanted the social company. "Yes and I think we both can use the company no?" The bum chimed in with Jonas's thoughts.
"Sure." Jonas said as he squatted opposite the bum, he was relieved not having to walk all the walk back and sure he could use the company of 'Mister Bum'.
"I used to be a doctor you know. Surgeon." The bum said unprovoked. Jonas nodded. "But then I found drugs you know - could not think man - so here I am. Sausage?" The bum handed him one with a dirty hand, Jonas was to tired to care and accepted it - it tasted fantastic. "You refused to leave huh yes? To the moon I mean."
"Delta." Jonas corrected. The bum frowned.
"What you say?!"
"Delta - it's Planet Delta they went to."
"Ah okay - Moon, Sun, Jupitar - big fucking difference - all fucking balls up there out in the big open. You refuse to go huh?"
"I overslept." Jonas answered - the bum froze half ways through sausage and stared at Jonas. Then a grin split his leathery face and four toothed smile was joined by a boisterous laughter that echoed all around, like a mob all laughing. He laughed so much he got the better half of a sausage stuck in his throat, coughed it up and returned to loudly chewing.
"And you - your still here too?" Jonas ventured.
"Ya, I knew not anything. I have a... you know... what the fuck it called... eeh træ-hus... you know house in the tree.."
"Yes! Fucking exactl. That's what it was - tree-house. I stay out there for long time, living naturally ecology and such you know and I one late night see big fire in heavens - and fuck I think - it's the rockets-"
"Space-Carriers." Jonas inserted.
"What?! Oh maybe - and these rockets are taken off and I think fuck - fuck you know. Rest is history - now I am king."
The bum chewed through another sausage and after punching his tattered bag a few times, he slid it under his head and seemed about to fall asleep.
Jonas sat silently, the world slowly coming back together for him, the pieces beginning to slide back into their correct places and the recent evens came back to plague him.
"Have you seen anybody else?" Jonas asked, the bum opened up his eyes annoyed.
"Have you seen anybody else, out here, alive I mean - like other than me?"
"Nah." The bum answered and attempted to close his eyes again, but Jonas was not just making small-talk.
"Just because, like, I saw this man drown himself today - and well he did not seem very sane."
"Man couldn't swim huh?"
"I don't know if I would call him a man..."
"Well, he was like really dirty and-" The bum sat up, clearly offended.
"I am really dirty! It's a choice! I don't let this society tell me what I am - I am me by choice and-"
"Not just dirty - that's not what I meant! Chill out - the world has ended but people are still offended... He was not just dirty, he was naked, and not to offend nudists if that is what you are too, he was running on all four and literally ran off the docks into the harbor, trying to get to me and like frickin' drowned immediately! Like if you were a sentient fucking human-being you would at least have known - 'Oh I can't swim.' and not just run straight into the damn water. Like he drowned! He did not even slightly surface - it was like seeing a stone drop into water - 'plop!' and it was gone!"
Somehow the bum was now seated right next to Jonas and had a hand on his shoulder, he stopped himself from shrugging it off as a reflex, it would not have been polite he figured, even if the bum smelled like days-old-piss.
"Hey man - I understand yes. Shit happens and you have seen it. It shall probably go." The bum said and took back his hand and moved back to his spot. Jonas did not feel he had been understood, but then again he was not sure he understood all that the bum was saying, his Danish accent thick and interspersed with periodic mumbling.
The bum closed his eyes.
"But did you understand that he was running on all four?" Jonas broke out, the bum opened his eyes and seemed about to start cursing when he seemed to regain control of himself and looked over at Jonas.
"All for what?"
"Like on all four - like running with his arms and legs?"
Jonas explained, the bum raised his eye-brows unimpressed.
"No, not jogging. Damn it - I'll show you." So Jonas stood up and demonstrated with difficulty how the man had been running using all four limbs.
"That the way he ran?" the bum asked.
"Yes! Like that!" Jonas exclaimed, relieved that he had gotten through to the man.
"Drugs." The bum stated confidently and closed his eyes again. Jonas stood silent - dismayed at the result of his efforts.
He did not sleep that night, not because he was thinking about the conundrum of having no milk - but because every time he fell asleep the crazed man running on all four would return to haunt him inside his own eye-lids.
As morning broke and the sun started to light up the city, he was still siting there. At first he thought the sound was in his weary head, but as it grew louder he stood up. It sounded like.... like a ... a Harley!
Join us next Saturday for Episode 7!
milk comes at a price.
Watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the water, caught him in a conflict. His initial reaction was to think he had to jump in after the man, the fool obviously could not swim and was effectively dying somewhere there at the bottom of the channel. Countering this initial reaction was the fact he did not want to - based on the fact that the man had seemed hostile and without logic.
The bubbles stopped coming and a chill ran down his back, cognizant that he had just let a human being die and he had done nothing! He shifted a bit nervously, and looked around to see if anyone had seen him in his omission to help. Obviously there was none, as it was after all the end of the world and there was a general shortage of people anywhere.
After a good 10 min he got himself out of the mental web that he had tumbled into and managed to get his body moving on over the bridge. He strolled down the now so expansive looking Amager Boulevard - heading for the very heart of Copenhagen.
The world had been very troubled for the last decade or so, but Copenhagen had kept it peaceful, while other nations dissolved into near anarchy as the time for evacuation drew closer. So the city was still intact and the pride the Danes had in their city was such that although they were all certain that there was no chance that the place would survive, they had kept the streets swept and the buildings clean up to the very last days. He stopped in front of a bus-stop, with it's glass framed advertisement.
"DANES COLONY ON PLANET DELTA SECURED!"
It said in large red letters, underneath the title stood the last PM, Jørgen Steengaard in a blue-pin-striped suit and a wide grin. The message below said in white fat letters: "VOTE JØRGEN STEENGAARD FOR COLONY DK PM." He smiled, he had voted for him and he had won - nevertheless he had an urge to vandalize the poster, but realized as he saw his haggered reflection, that none would see his work and figured it pointless.
Man, did he wish that he had made it with everybody else to Planet Delta. The voyage there would take the population about 3 years - 3 years of travelling at top speed through the dark of space with no pit-stops. He had been following the whole development and the political debates on just how an entire planet's population would be evacuated. Earth was estimated to encounter its demise in the span of the next year, according to the brightest of minds and their algorithms and what not. He knew that none would be coming back and he knew for sure that he was doomed to perish with the planet. The carrier-spaceships sent off were not built for changing trajectory, they were locked in on the direction needed to arrive at planet Delta and that was the entire design off it. Even if after the ship arrived three years into the future and someone decided to circle back and look for survivors on Earth, then that would add another 3 years, meaning 6 years in total and considering that doom was calculated to happen within a year: he knew that he was pretty royally screwed.
He came by a 7/Eleven, its doors had been blocked with stacks of street construction equipment that someone had, most likely in a binge of drinking, pilled up, as it was collected in the imitation of a tent. He went around the corner of the shop - the main entrance was the only entrance. It struck him that he was acting oddly like the good citizen he used to be, but was there any point in being a good citizen when there no longer was any civilization there? Having found a few cobble-stones he stood a distance back and began tossing the small bastards at the glass, bit by bit the glass shattered and broke off in pieces. Just when his arms had gotten so tried that he did not think he could muster another throw, a chunk off it fell off and - voila - he had a small entrance he could crawl in through. Pushing away the shards of glass he got in on his hands and knees. He scuttled over to the cooler - it was still cool! He frantically searched through the racks of beverages until his fingers found a carton of milk! It was cold! He laughed out loud and popped off the plastic lid - he stuck his nose in and took a wiff - it smelled fine! Joyously he turned it 180 vertically and let the cool cold milk flow. One swallow, two swallows - ahhhh - three swall- He gagged and fell onto his knees - he could not breath! He tried to cough, but could not! He looked around wildly for some answer on the shelves of snacks - chocolate bars could not help him now. He fumbled around and tried to hit his throat, that just hurt! He tried to perform a Heimlich Maneuver by punching himself in the gut - nothing changed! He was getting lightheaded, the pressure in his head was building dangerously and the panic was coming close to tipping over into full-on despair. He tried to stand but toppled and fell onto the floor flat. He could not get up! He realized that he was about to die right there, right then - the victim of milk. A tear snuck out from his left eye and he went from despair to apathy - maybe this was the way he dies- Someone hit him hard on his back! Again! And Again! Someone was stomping him! In his bewilderment he stupidly wondered why someone would attack a dying man. A final heavy foot came down hard on the middle of his back, pain shot through his spine and chest - a fist-full sized chunk of mucus-like milk-gone-bad shot out from his mouth and splattered on the gray floor, like a slimy ball of mozzarella.
"Hva' fa'en har du gang i knægt?" a rough voice said. Still wheezing he rolled over on his back and caught sight of what could only be an old haggered bum with a gray frazzled beard that stuck out in all directions.
The bum had spoken danish and a censored English version of his question would sound something like this: "Hello boy. What are you doing?"
He stood up quick and wiped the milk from his chin.
The bum assumed he did not speak danish as he had not answered and switched over to a broken English. "HELLO. WHO FUCK ARE YOU? THIS MY HOUSE YOU KNOW."
He felt like a little kid being told off.
"I am Jonas - I just wanted some milk and-" he started, the bum shook his head and pulled out a knife from his jacket-pocket.
"Fandens osse! IT WAS RETORICAL QUESTION - NOW YOU GET OUT!" The bum took a step forward and Jonas spun on his feet in panic and ran, smashing right into the side of shelf. Pain shot through his eye-brow and his vision went black. Unconscious - his mind drifted to a place where he was sailing down a river of milk in a canoe.
NEW EPISODES OUT EVERY SATURDAY
a man is not a fish
A week had gone by and the magnitude of the 'mundanity' had struck him deep, he was a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie, or at least had been before he had his biggest ever cluster-fuck happen; missing to get on the last shuttle of the planet. The epicness of his failure and the realization that he would perish alone in a city that was only inhabited by himself, ghosts and one individual named Tom, had left him in a lethargic apathy, from which he saw no reason climb out off. There was all the food in the world, all the time in the world, since the globe had not gone up in smoke yet, as the government had promised would happen. He had no boss to please or rent to pay. While this latter was a relief, yet it left him without a purpose and without a mission and he had now learnt the life lesson that there was no freedom in utter freedom from everything and everybody.
Now the strangest thing had happened - he had found a new purpose.
His preference for milk as part of his diet and the fact that the city was totally out of milk - had given him a new purpose. However fragile and laughable that purpose, it was one and he clinged to it like a one would a plank of wood out at sea.
Armed with his 4.5 millimeter air-rifle and his red kicks, he started on thee journey which would become the start of his new life. His destination?
The library - the tomb of knowledge.
The sun was on the rise from the east and benignly warmed his face, he had considered going to the next town which had it's own library, but on second thought he wanted to make sure he found the information that he was looking for and so he was headed for the Central Library of Copenhagen. He took the route along the coast, getting sand in his shoes as he walked. White fluffy clouds crept across the baby-blue sky, the blue-grey ocean resisting the sky's optimism - he kicked off his shoes and lost himself in following the display of acrobatics, which a gang of swallows were performing death-defyingly close to the angry waves. For those few kilometers he walked he lost his thoughts in the sea and it's companions who seemed not to have noticed the end of humanity's reign on the planet. He felt released and care-free, slanting towards agreeing with the birds that all that had occurred was 'no big deal'.
As he crossed the "LongBridge" that connected the island of Amager to the very center of Copenhagen, the sun was higher and burnt his shoulders, he stopped like he often did and admired the view of the so-called "Island-Harbour". He spotted a speed-boat abandoned, its two gigantic motors promising adventure. He decided he would check it out on his way back, maybe he could get it started. He smiled as he realized, that he could also look up some books on ignitions in the library, so he could learn to hot-wire vehicles and specifically that speed-boat. His adrenaline pumped as he realized he could, if he learnt to hot-wire, find ANY car he wanted and ride ride ride! Lamborghini, Ferrari, Porsche...
His transient moment of bliss was interrupted as he spotted a figure moving along the harbor, he gripped the railing hard and leant forward, squinting his eyes to see.
It WAS a man and what's more it was not Tom! Someone else was here! He opened his mouth to yell, but something inside him made him hesitant in hollering out. As a precaution he loaded his pellet shooter and observed the man a bit longer. The man was hunched over and moved in an odd ragged way, stopping from time to time to pick something up and either put it in his mouth or toss it away dismissively. It was as if he all of a sudden got his vision adjusted, as it dawned on him that the man was NAKED! He wore nothing, except thick dirt and hair left to grow unhindered.
He stood undecided on what to do now - this was after all only the third person he had seen since the incident and there might not be others, but conversely he would not want to have that man near him. He decided to keep walking, but as if on cue, as soon as he had thought the thought, the man jerked his head up and looked straight at him.
The man growled! He then pointed up at him as if accusingly. With a louder growl he threw himself on all four and ran like a mad monkey in a side-ways manner in his direction. He aimed the pellet gun, but could not get himself to shoot, besides he would probably miss at this distance and altitude. The idiocy of running straight in his direction did not seem apparent to the man who picked up speed, there was water between them and 10 meters distance vertically to where he stood safely on top of the bridge. The man moved forward unhindered, not taking his eyes of him and just like that ran right off the docks and into the water. Nothing resurfaced but bubbles.
OUT OF MILK - THE STORY-BLOG
Come over here and waste your time with the story of one who survived the end of the world, only to find first-world problems were still problems. Join us on this quest for more milk.
"OUT OF MILK - THE BLOG-STORY" Copyright 2019 AMADREAS MEDIA.