Golf Club

His stump of a left leg rises. His mind can’t have left the world for that long, in that case, since it remains practically unaltered in length compared to before. The human remembered now. Losing this leg is what made him lie down and accept second, third, tenth or whatever defeat he’s at now in the first place. The final nail in the coffin, anyway, which in this case would be the clump of like-minded humans he lay buried in prior to his awakening. He remembers something else. Something that in this world, could still be considered important knowledge to some. His name was Aspen. As if by the act of separating his body from the collective, Aspen’s individuality sparked to life in remembrance again. This human wouldn’t become a part of the Earth’s flesh just yet, it seems. Allowing his brain to catch up and his gears shake off the rust, he stares dully at the foot he does have. His dirty toes bend with some cracks. As with the brain, the sensation of life begins coursing through his body’s muscles, bones, and blood, awaking any pain and discomfort he temporarily had forgotten about. Aspen could determine that nothing seemed to be broken, at least. Mutely, Aspen scooches himself to the edge of the mountain of men, and lets his leg dangle over the edge. He needed a substitute for his missing one, lest he wouldn’t be able to travel anywhere anytime soon. He limply begins gliding down the craggy slide of jutting heads and limbs. Aspen’s leg brakes his fall when his foot hits ground. Sharp pebbles dig into his sole. As part of the immortality punishment, the body recovers itself even having sustained otherwise mortal blows. As long as it’s intact, that is. If it’s blown to bits by a landmine or the like, that’s that. Before the collapse of everything and everyone, scientists diligently studied the biology of the New human body. Its capabilities as well as its limits, immorally so, scientists watched in awed horror the human body bend itself back into shape, and its brain halves merge together, and its limbs grow longer. Bodies crack, but reform. Minds crack with no such luck. Now those left wandering this dying planet are broken remains of brains in pain-generating bodies. Endlessly starving stomachs and endlessly dry throats and endlessly creaking bones and endlessly tearing muscles. Overworked bodies begging to die, but not granted permission. Why had this equally miserable one decided to get up? His feet firmly planted on the ground, Aspen tries hopping one step with his one leg before falling flat on his belly. Lifting his face from the ground, he instead tries crawling his way forward with his arms and the additional help of his leg. It was impossible not to have his stomach and arms scratched up like this, and so Aspen calmly squirmed forward with lines of red increasingly opening up on his pale skin. Minutes pass. An hour. He must’ve been crawling for an hour and a half at least when he suddenly spots a manmade object lying on the ground further ahead. Inching up to it, he can confirm that it’s a golf club. Heavily tarnished of course, but of decent shape compared to most of the junk he’s come across. He gruntingly crawls back up into a sitting position. Aspen’s hand grabs the surprisingly cold iron, and he turns the object a couple of times with his other one in examination. This would do. It was a bit long, but that wouldn’t be an issue. Hopefully nobody planned to play golf with this thing, Aspen things to himself with a vacant expression. In any case, he needed it more. He lifts his severed leg and raises the golf club above it the best he can. Tremblingly, he winces his eyes shut in a grimace. And with all of his force, jabs it down. He can’t help screaming out in pain as it stabs into his leg, slitting though layers upon layers of tissue. A single splurt of blood spurts out, staining the club. His fingers still tightly gripped the shaft. Aspen groaningly lowers his head, dark curls falling down over his eyes, and breathes away the blurriness in them. The iron sizzled under his skin.