Portrait Of A Desolate World

Tough Luck

"Tough luck"

It's what I always say when things take a turn for the worst. And either me or the other party gets the shorter end of the stick, it's just tough luck.

I was a reclusive young man living in the middle of an empty desert from the west. Our house was a few meters walk from an empty road that leads to God knows where.

Yeah, it's not what you'd imagine some kid would be spending most of his early years.

My father died before I could even speak my first word, my mother died of Tubercolosis when I was 15, and from then on I was alone. I only had myself, our house, my fathers .308 caliber hunting rifle and an old machete. Food is scarce so I have to hunt for any living breathing mutated animal I can encounter in this hell hole. Vultures, rattle snakes, scorpions, and the occasional wandering trader looking for a place to rest before venturing back to their usual routes.

They make fair trades too. I offer them some snake stew and fried scorpions, they give me enough money to last me 2 weeks maybe even a month plus surplus ammo whenever prospectors come to trade. It goes on and on and on until I eventually had to go and look for a true place to call home. That's when I heard from a trader about this ranger group looking for sharpshooters. Since I've been good with a rifle for 10 years now so I figured I may have a future for the 1st time in my currently 21 years of existence.

So I went ahead and joined the next trading caravan passing by. Asked them if they need protection so long as they keep my appetite full for the rest of the journey. The first caravan was just this old man with his wife and dog, barely even had food left with them.

"Tough luck old man."

Yeah, I said that to him. Couldn't really sympathize with anyone anymore either. Or so I thought.

The 2nd caravan came in and it was in a lot more agreeable condition. 2 carts with non-mutated horses and 2 other guards. The leader of the caravan was a middle aged man with his daughter. She was about 16 or so when I met her.

The woman to define who I really was, was a daughter of a caravaneer. I didn't even pay attention to her when I approached her father for work.

The road was long, as I figured it would be. I remember the look on her face when she steadily gazed upon me whenever I start scouting the area for trouble. She was beautiful, her facial expressions were subtle, but her eyes speak differently. Something about her stare gives me the chills. It's something I've never felt before... It was caring and curiosity... I've lived 15 years with my mother yet in no point in our time together did she mention how she loves me nor did she ask how I was doing.

And as the first few days ended, she'd slowly open up to me even though we barely even met each other.

She talks alot.

And I would just shut up when she does.

Cause you know why?

I don't really have much to tell about me...

I couldn't tell an innocent young lady about my scarred past. I can't tell her my mother used me as a toy for her pleasures.

I can't tell her I was the one to clean up the mess that my mother and some random roving trader made when they were making love in front of me... No...

It took us 2 weeks to reach the nearest inhabited town, well it took us that long because we had to stop so many times because of random tribal raiding parties giving us a hard fucking time. That's when I had to go to the town hall and enlist for the rangers... In those 2 brief weeks, she'd known so much about me than I did after living for 21 years. I didn't even know her real name because her father only reffered to her as "Iha" or "Neng".
She even told me that the scorpion and snake meats were actually rare and alot less mutated than the ones way up north where civilization slowly rises so the traders were willing to give so much money for it.