Stranger

A tattered cape fluttered in the wind, black locks spilled down along it. Its ends were murkened a dark red, same with the stranger’s boots, who ran almost all the way up to their knees where the original leathery brown colour was still visible. The rest of their attire was hidden within the shade of the cape. Staring back at the stranger suddenly spit out in the open by the bleeding city, Aspen takes note of the mysterious smile on their lips before the unusually large machete lugged over their back, thereafter the human head hanging by the hair in their gloved hand, thereafter the twitching of their other one.

“Nice weather,” the stranger nods softly.

Aspen lifts his gaze to their face again. He could tell now after a brief interrogation that they were a man.

“Yes,” he agrees.

In the shade of their hat, the stranger’s eyes too moved along Aspen’s body, not to find as much. The smile again.

“Say, this is an awfully strange place to be having a picnic. Are you lost?”

A disingenuous question.

“I’m searching for something. A place,” Aspen answers shortly, wind catching hold of his hair also. “But I don’t know where it is.”

“How problematic,” the stranger says thoughtfully, “These lot aren’t much help in your quest, are they?” he nods to the human-decorated streets around them.

“No.”

“Well, what is this place you’re seeking? I might just be able to help you out.”

The head swayed in his grasp.

“It’s a city surrounded by walls.”

Its loosely hanging jaw, rolled up fish eyes, desperately called for his attention.

“Supposedly.” Aspen adds, eyes obediently facing forward.

“Hm,” the stranger scratched his neck, a hint of mild amusement on his face, “And where’d you hear that from?”

“I’ve heard it many nights in my sleep, from the insects,” Aspen replies earnestly.

“That’s just called dreaming, isn’t it? Surprised you’re still able to do it, though.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s a feeling.”

“You’re able to feel too?” the stranger grins.

“My reasons don’t matter. Do you know anything?” Aspen asks at last, and the caped man once again scratches his neck.

“Oho, that’s something… You’re out strutting around unarmed, a goddamned golf club for a leg, no map or nothing, with no idea where you’re going?”

Aspen glares wearily at him. What’s with these people and avoiding the question?

“That’s right. Now about my question?”

The stranger snickers, lowering his veiny hand.

“Heheh, don’t get mad. All I’m trying to say is you’re gonna run into some bad folk sooner rather than later…”

Aspen glances down at the head he’s holding, discreetly, but the stranger picks up on it.

“Ah, don’t misunderstand,” he raises his eyebrows, innocently, and suddenly holds up the head in front of him, it facing Aspen at eye-level. “This here is my friend, Demitri. Demitri’s body got all messed up, so he wanted me to bring his head somewhere safe so he can grow it back. He’s a little out of it, you’ll have to excuse his manners.”

“I see…”

“Oh, and to answer your question,” the stranger goes on, lowering Demitri, “I do know the place you are referring to.”

“What?” Aspen’s face perks up, eyes big, “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Forgive me, but I haven’t had an engaging conversation with anyone in a while, and I feared you would leave once I told you.”

Engaging conversation?

“Demitri has always been a man of few words, but I daresay he’s gotten even worse now,” he explains, Aspen unable to tell whether that was an attempt at a joke or not.

“Then, it exists? Where is it?” Aspen asks quickly, subconsciously having closed the distance between them.

“If you’d like, I can show you.”

The wind whips the scent of fat past them.

“The path there is quite treacherous, you see,” the man continues calmly. “If I told you the way, I’d be sending off a dead man.”

A dead man, Aspen sneers to himself.

“Are you saying you’ll protect me? Why?” Aspen inquires, the stranger putting on a pleasant smile.

“The insects told me I should,” he jokes.

“…”

This human could very well be lying through his teeth for no other reason than to watch Aspen squirm for a while. Truthfully, it didn’t matter. In the same way he had walked into this man-eating deathtrap of a city with nothing but his old fists and his own ignorance, any fake glimmer of a lead was enough of a reason to do it all over again. There were fates worse than death. Even so, everyday’s waking up in the morning and dying in your sleep at night, waking up and dying. A compressed life cycle of slow death fit into 24 hours. So what did it matter, if that compressed life cycle became a little more unbearable.

“Besides, I’m heading in the same direction,” the stranger adds.

“You’re going somewhere too?” Aspen asks, vaguely surprised.

“I wouldn’t be up walking if I wasn't,” he replies.

The pale sun was setting already, hiding half its face behind the roofs. Today’s life cycle was nearing its death.

“In that case,” Aspen says at last. “Please show me the way.”