Fool's Beginning, Fool's End (At The End, Everything is Okay: The 0th Story)

Section 7

The day after he completed the canal – the day after the night where he received the gallons of vomit – Jone awoke to find a mob of people at his door. Wereghouls.

As soon as Jone opened the door to his little hut, his hand was immediately snatched up by the one that had knocked, and was shaken.

The wereghouls wanted to thank him.

To the wereghouls, the act of evacuating one's insides is considered a social activity. It is agony, yes, but an agony that is emblematic to the wereghoul existence. It is a shared agony. And once the agony has passed, and normalcy returns, the pack can comfort one another, and celebrate their collective triumph over their bodily functions.

That's why the canal, while not functioning very well as a water transport channel, functioned much better as a public outhouse.

The wereghouls thanked Jone, for giving them a convenient, public forum for their awful bonding activities.

It was stated earlier that the Purifiers were able to predict this outcome. It was true; their advanced technology allowed them a slight peek into a potential future. One where they were unable to provide a steady water supply, and one where the territory that was being excavated by Jone was prime territory for wereghouls.

What they did not predict, however, was that Jone – hung over, and surrounded by people grateful for his work – would immediately empty the contents of his stomach on the spot.

Jone felt an intense sense of embarrassment and shame. He felt as though he might as well shrivel up and die right then.

But it is key to remember, what may be considered "disgusting", "repulsive", or "gross" to us may not be perceived the same way to others. Lived experience informs values, and the wereghouls have a lot of lived experience.

To them, Jone's emesis was not anything to be embarrassed about.

In fact, they loved him for it. To them, emptying one's stomach is a sign of goodwill.

Jone was celebrated.

And yet, despite the celebration and gratitude, Jone could never allow himself to accept it. He could never overcome his own values, his own lived experiences – his inner voice that told him these people were disgusting, if they were even people at all.

Jone felt empty. He had come to this valley to find his soulmate. To find the one that would fill this emptiness within him, and finally give him the happiness he needed, nay, deserved.

But here he was, surrounded by a loud, stinking mass of... things. Things that loved and cherished him. Things that he could not muster any love for himself.

As Jone sat, surrounded by the ones who loved him, he seethed, and seethed, and seethed. All the while the wereghouls partied, drank, and praised his name.

"Doesn't talk much," They said of Jone, "But he's a pretty cool guy."