A Little Bit of Fear (part 1)

I am insane.

I have looked into the vast empty darkness and seen that nothing has meaning. So, everything has meaning. What is the difference between light and dark to the blind? Music and silence to the deaf? Wonder and misery to the insane? They are both equal to me, now. Human kind was not meant to exist out here at the fringe of existence. It isn't that it changes us. This isn't evidence of the evil that lives within our soul. It's just that out here everything gets... frayed. The truth gets laid bare and we were better off not knowing it. I have made a beast of myself, and all that's left is a little bit of fear.

"FEAR IS GOOD."

Yes. A little bit of fear is good. Fear keeps us focused on the present. It keeps us safe; as much as safety can be said to exist. Safety comes from being strong enough to kill your prey, fast enough to run from your predators, and smart enough to outwit them all. Everything has a weakness, though. Fear reminds you of that. Fear will keep you alive. Fear makes you FEEL alive.

"BALLS! TOO MUCH SWEAT ON MY BALLS!"

He reaches down and takes a handful of sack, carelessly groping through worn denim and silk, and pulls hard. The coin purse comes free from the offending leg; pain and pleasure mix in ecstacy. He grunts with appreciation for the beauty of it all. His large frame is bare from the waist up except for sweat, dirt, dried blood and dark coarse hair. His head is covered by a full face helmet, though half of the face shield is broken away. Beneath, one eye is missing, with no glass replacement or attempt made to hide the scar around it. This, is Bear.

He lost that eye by strangling a bear. You can figure out how he got the name on your own.

Jasmine loves me. I've tried to throw her away; I've told her to run. Find someone who can treat her the way she deserves. Someone who will mend her when she is broken, love her when she shines true. She always comes back, though. Her dedication keeps me from leaving this giant, broken beast. Without her, there would be nothing left to fear.

Jasmine is a machete. There is a large notch on the backside with bits of old hair stuck in it. The leather wrapped around the handle is old and decayed. She is not beautiful.

"Pretty. My pretty, pretty, pretty." Bear runs a finger along the cracked side of the blade. He closes his eyes and soaks in the burning from the absorbed heat of the desert sun. "Love."

Fear. I can smell fear. Fresh, present, intoxicating.

There.

Men smell different when afraid.

Men should not be afraid of me. Where is their pride? I am not a predator. I am a broken thing, nothing more. They reek of rotten flesh and failure. Why do they look at me like that? Cowards. Run away, little rats. Run, run away...

Ahead is a small town built around a lone, pathetic launch pad. A tiny hub barely capable of sustaining itself. Full of frontiersmen, thrill seekers, and social disease. Nobody comes to Desolation unless they're running from something. It is an empty planet barely able to sustain life. Humans either sweat and bleed or freeze and bleed. And this town, Unionside, is the Desolation of Desolation.

These people are practically begging to die.

"Stop looking at me..." For Bear, it's a whisper.

There's no one there. A few people wander about the outer limits of Unionside, but mostly they are inside during the long days. They hide from the heat. They have not baked in it the way Bear has to melt away the weakness and the fear. There are other smells now, too. The quiet hunger of women, making him shift his belt uncomfortably. The sour, sad smell of children. Unionside is desperate. It begs for the mercy of release.

Bear slides Jasmine's edge along his stomach. Slowly. Making love. He stands there watching the town and its people. A few of them have noticed his arrival. They stare at each other uneasily. One puts a shakey hand on the pistol at his side. Bear grabs the front of his helmet in his free hand and shifts it comfortably. He leaves his hand there and licks the burn on his fingertip.

They are sad, Jasmine.

"Hey, get the fuck on outta here!" The man with the gun calls.

Your fear is in my blood. It boils and seethes. Your weakness is inevitable.

"YOU FILL MY COCK WITH HATRED, LITTLE HERO."

Can you hear me? I don't want to kill them. He does not deserve salvation.

"Get him, he's fuckin' Lost!" Who said it is irrelevant.

Look, Jasmine. I brought you a present.