Arrival

From the Story Arc: Something Stupid This Way Comes

Next Story in the Arc: Party by BioHazard Boy (Friday, September 30, 2005)

(posted Friday, September 30, 2005)

First came sensation, then memory. Floating in water, breathing, awareness. Where was he? Who was he? He remembered none of this at first, just the sensation of floating in the flotsam off the coast of Independence Port.

The industrial sludge clung to him, making it hard to swim, but he discovered, much to his suprise, that he had no trouble breathing underwater. Perhaps the breathing mask he wore had something to do with that? The deductive centers of his mind were obviously not fully functional, as it took him about five minutes to determine that A) he should be drowning and B) he was not drowning. Calming himself down, and satisfied that he was not dying, the creature began to look around. He could see people walking along the shoreline, carrying objects, boxes he thought they were called. He would go speak to the people, see if they could help him.

But swimming was proving difficult. The debris clung to him, refusing to allow him easy strokes in the water. In frustration, he spoke his first words:

"Dis stuff sticky!"

Luckily, our protagonist was strong, and was able to shake himself sufficiently free to make his way shoreward. As he made it to shore, he noticed the people (the word "workers" suddenly popped into his head) were staring at him dumbfounded.

He was an odd sight, to say the least. 5'3", trim of build and muscular, with impressively spiked hair, he cut a striking profile, especially considering he was, as far as he knew, five minutes old. But the dockworkers seemed more focused on his brownish green skin. No, not skin really, more of an oozing, glistening tissue. A green oily substance oozed out of his pores. Oh, and the large bony spikes sticking out of his back and arms probably caught their attention as well. And the fact that he was naked, with [Further description has been edited by the censors.]

All in all, he made a strong first impression. One of the dockhands ripped open a box and threw a pair of raggedy sweatpants at him. "Put some clothes on son!"

The word struck him like a thunderbolt. "Son." He WAS someone's son. The image couldnt' be more clear in his head, a strong face, whispering kind words to him in the night, promising him that they would be together in the future. He could see that face clearly, and suddenly he knew what he had to do.

"Hewo workahs....ah....do youz know my favah?"