A Savage Life

A Savage Life

January 6th, 1986, Alaska, freezing middle of darn nowhere. The only speck of life for miles around being my coworkers, my boss, and I. When you look at life, you never think things could change. Change so suddenly, so fast, so instantaneously that you never even saw it coming. I was like each one of you, living life to the fullest, and dullest, working for pay. I sound real interesting, don't I? But I'm not here to interest any of you- I'm here to say that I was one of you until January sixth. And that day changed the life of one Joshua Asbury. Me. Just a regular guy like each of you.

Don't get intimidated by me. It's not my fault what happened. It was a freak accident. Promise. Most people think I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when said accident happened, but how could I be? I drilled oil for a living in the middle of Alaska, where freak accidents were few and far between. Others would have you believe that just because I dropped out of school, I was caught being stupid by Death, and well, he took me out of the equation, which would be an absolute lie. And a ridiculous one at that, as I'm smarter than most think.

Don't worry. It's not one of those tales where you're bored to sleep because I got some promotion, or my wife bore me a son, or my children changed the world through a college degree. Nope, not I, I'm not that lucky, because if I were, where's my million dollar lottery ticket?

Back to January 6th. I can recall that it was a day like any other: I was drilling oil for my company and listening to orders being tossed from my boss, Lou Reinfield. Lou was not the most lenient or the kindest boss in the world. In fact, I don't think I ever recall him being nice at all. He barked orders like he was born to do so, and he could fire you at the flick of a wrist. You knew you were in trouble when he gave his trademark sullen looked, raised eyebrow, and flicked his finger upward. On top of that, he was so serious all the time. Out of my twenty years here, I don't think I ever saw him smile.

Drilling oil is dangerous business, and laughing around and having a jolly good time is a sure-fire way to screw up and mortally wound or kill somebody. I can understand that, but when your mother delivers you a birthday cake, on your day off, and, did I mention, on your birthday, and you still look like somebody shot your puppy in front of you, I can only imagine what kind of personality you have to have make you so grumpy.

And how could I fail to mention that he also involved us in various crimes both felonious and misdemeanor, and dared us to say a word. He was the only one of us who had a slate-clean record and wasn't deemed a menace to society. He hired people, like me, who had grievous charges against them and had even spent jail time for it, to drill oil in harsh, dangerous conditions. And the only reason he did it was to paint a picture that he was creating a better life for felons and whatnot. You know, to keep us ‘clean and jail free’ and all that. But it was all a gigantic ploy, so he could dominate someone who had no one to turn to in their life, and he knew he held the whip over us all. He could do whatever he wanted to us, and we couldn't say a word. After all, I was a criminal, and when you're in the system, people just wait for scum like you to die. Now, if you think I‘m going to spill what I did on his orders, you'd better think twice and watch your mouth. If I let that slip, I'd be in jail for life, and that's something I want to avoid.

Anyhow, you're probably wondering, why would I work for a jerk like him? The same reason any of you put up with half the people in your life. To provide for my family—my only driving point—and to ensure that they had enough to be comfortable.

I always smiled at the thought of the day I could come home to my children screaming, Daddy! and a kiss from Lana, my wife. Ah, I'm still smiling at the thought.

I was working like a dog on the rig, which was stationed near the edge of a cliff, as Lou shouted orders at me and my buddy, Randolph Jerringer. Randolph worked the machines beside me while I manned the drill. Randolph had been more than a work buddy, and more than a friend. He was almost like a brother to me. He was somebody I could trust, and that list was very, very, very short.

Randolph whispered to me the best he could over the roaring robots, You'd think he'd run outta things to say.

I gave him a hearty chuckle and plunged my drill deep into the ice. Then, all of a sudden, I heard this nasty sounding crack and sat petrified as my rig started to move on its own. I looked around for Randolph, praying for his and God's help, but my old friend had vanished. Gee, thanks for the help, buddy.

Then, in the midst of feeling betrayed, terrified, and all-around frozen, I heard silence. Silence. Enough for me to realize my mistake, I had drilled too deep and caused the rig to slip. By the time I regained motion from my paralysis, men were shouting at me to move and jump, and that's when I realized I had two choices. I could stay and die or jump and die. It was obvious I was gonna die anyway, so I just sat there and droned out the sound of chaos as I thought of my family. How would Lana take care of the children? So many thoughts rolled through my head, and I could recall every eternal moment of my life.

Forty-seven. Forty-seven. Too young to die, but old enough to die of tragedy. And this was not how I expected to leave this world either. Really, I expected to be shot or run over, which was more predictable for the likes of me, but not this. As I fell forward, life thrust into slow-motion and the universe muted every sound. Every sound but my screams and the crumbling of more ice falling away. The abyss swallowed me, and I was falling. Falling. I saw ice above my head, then black. Cold, black nothing.

I woke up in a completely different environment. I was not surrounded by snow and ice, but a glass wall. Below me, was a metallic looking bowl filled with water, and that's when I noticed the huge block of semi-liquefied ice I was standing in. It had melted enough that I could peel my confused body out of it to look around. Immediately, beyond the glass wall, was a silvery metallic one, and below my feet I found beige carpet. I didn't see any doors around, and I guessed that I'd have to imitate a spider to get out.

But whatever had happened, wherever I was, I needed answers and I had to learn how to leave here. I doubted banging on the walls and screaming like a loosed maniac would get me help anytime soon. If anything, it might get me confused for a rabid dog and put down like one. I doubted whoever was keeping me here would have mercy on disruptive zoo animals.

Then I noticed the room was cold, and I was cold. I grabbed my body for warmth, searching around for my jacket's zipper and found nothing but my own skin. Looking down, drum roll please, I discovered that I was in the nude. Immediate decency reaction set in, and I was clutching myself for the sake of my remaining dignity and to bar the eyes of women and children from beholding my glory. I doubted I'd become the next model of a well-known magazine with my semi-pudgy frame and exuberant chest hair, not to mention the fact that I had a grungy looking beard and oily brown hair.

What had happened to my clothes? Maybe NASA took them for inspection. I didn't know. For all I knew, I could've been abducted by aliens. I'd been surrounded by them all my life.

There was that girl who loved to torture her animals for some reason. She ate bugs and spoke in an absolute crazed way. Thank goodness the mental ward took her in before slashing someone's tires became a tragedy. Then there was Billy from high school. Too bad suicide doors got to him first. Then there was my wife. Nerdy, gross nasal congestion, earwax from her ears, lice, had fleas. I was the only one who would befriend her. The others didn't understand that she came from abusive drug addict parents who lived in the dumpster, had like twenty kids, and never bought a bar of soap for their daughter. I got ahold of her and gave her back her confidence.

Her family, for some weird reason, reminded me of my own. I don't know why. I guess it was because, just like Lana, my parents were there, but then again, they weren't actively there. So, it was just me and my brother Joe until smallpox got him, and then I was alone. I would do anything to have him back, just like how Lana's siblings cared for Joseph, the youngest brother who was sickly and walked on makeshift crutches, who died later, and left Lana in tears and all but alone at school.

I had stood around waiting long enough, so I let my primal instincts take over and started banging on one of the walls like an enraged chimpanzee. As if by answer, this tall dark-skinned man came in wearing a silver bodysuit and holding a clipboard and no pen through the wall! The wall! The wall beside me just slid open, and there he was! Grinning from ear to ear so much I thought his mouth was going to twitch. It didn't, but I wondered what would happen if I slapped him while he was smiling. Instead, I lurched back and crawled away, something I'm not normally known to do, and watched him with wide, frightful eyes. Maybe because of that strange smile he bore. He walked closer to me, greeting me, still smiling, much to my chagrin. Then, my survival instincts kicked in, and for some reason, I thought he was going to beat me with the clipboard, so I held up my hands and huddled away from him like a wild animal. A wild animal without a shred of dignity left.

Neanderthal, the man spoke kindly. Too kindly. I am Darrel, and I will be your guide. You have been asleep for a while, Neanderthal.

What do you mean? I asked. I sounded more like a teenage boy during puberty. It was clear that I'd been out for longer than I thought.

You are Subject 2-8-6, you are Josh Asbury, a native to Alaska, and you have existed in 1986. Welcome, Neanderthal, to the thirtieth century. I am Darrel, and I will be glad to escort you toward the Apparel Approvers.

So much for answering my question sanely.

You already said your name was Darrel, I noted, nodding toward him. I sincerely think he was deliberately forgetting the part about the thirtieth century and how I was in it. All the more reason to knock his teeth out if he stepped any closer.

My name is Darrel, he repeated again. And I will escort you to the Cleansing Laboratory for washing and then to the Apparel Approvers for dressing.

I hated how he kept that constant grin. He was beginning to grate on my nerves. I'd have liked to slug him a good one, but I had no idea what he was capable of…yet.

Subject 2-8-6 is disrespondant and repeats phrases, Darrel noted in his little clipbook using only his words.

I do not! I spat back on impulse.

Where were my manners? I was beginning to sound exactly like the animal they had mistaken me for. Like I deserved a whippin’. I hope they realized that I just wanted to go home and play with my children and be with Lana. Really, I was nothing special. I