(Mensis 28, 45 / 12:01PM)

  Many years ago.

  The desert wind blew the red dirt along the same stretch of land as far as the eye could see. Even in the past, present, or future, the same soil will always be blown along the same path.

  But not the people.

  On the same place, on the same land, but on a different set of acres, a medium-sized ranch situated itself near a southern hill that holds the Joshua Tree. Unlike the present, the ranch house was two stories high, and the vineyard was the only way that crops could be stored.

  Which were their special garlic crops.

  The barn and stables being relatively the same, the only major difference was the total lack of guards patrolling the area. Only a guard or two sitting on a bench on the front porch, their pistols were holstered on their hips, and their mouths holstered a large cigar that plumed smoke.

  (Zirardge Guard #1) For an aristocratic family, they sure seem to live a modest life.

  (Zirardge Guard #2) They’re nothing but a pharmaceutical family. You know that building near the bank in Lagefor? That’s the building where they oversee the medicines and drugs that you all take.

  (Zirardge Guard #1) Does it look like I know that?

  Hovering his right hand over his mouth, one of the guards placed his fingers on the wood of his cigar. Pulling it out with his two fingers, he pushed the excess smoke that circulated inside of his mouth, letting the fumes hit the roof of the porch.

  The wood was molded by the smoke, it looked as if the area was already burnt.

  Their eyes staring deep into the red soil desert, they noticed a pair of two teenage boys sitting near an old oak tree. The leaves softly whistled with the air, some of it fell on top of the boy's hair, as they rested their bottoms on top of the roots.

  One of the teenagers looked to be old, as the boy had turquoise hair and a barely growing mustache. As for the other, he had ginger hair and looked skinny, more skinny than the chubby teen next to him.

  (Doug) So where are you from, kid?

  (Kenichi) I uh … I don’t know…

  (Doug) You don’t know where you’re from?

  (Kenichi) The only thing I remember … is seeing you. D-Do I have amnesia?

  A teenage Doug placed his chubby fingers onto his chin, rubbing it back and forth while glancing at Kenichi from time to time. Letting out a low hum from his throat, he had his other hand grip his kneecap, all the while he pinned his eyes down at the batch of dry red dirt.

  Moving his eyeballs to the timid boy, Doug huffed out a load of air from his nostrils, nodding his head up and down with Kenichi’s question.

  (Doug) That’s the only explanation that we could come up with. Just hope my father allows you to live here.

  (Kenichi) A-Are you poor?

  (Doug) Oh, it's the opposite. My family is part of the 13 aristocratic families that share the wealth of the rich. But my father is stingy with strangers.

  (Kenichi) Oh.

  His words trailing out from his mouth, Kenichi let his eyes downcast onto the dirt that painted his black pants red. The soil seeping into his legs, caused him to let both of his knees and legs curl him up like a ball.

  Looking over to the ranch that he called home, Doug stood up with both of his chubby feet, his hands inside of his pants pocket as he only wore a brown shirt and pants. His short hair failing to flow with the desert wind, he glanced back down at the balled-up Kenichi, his smile widening as he pulled both of his hands out of his pockets.

  Extending his right hand, he looked into Kenichi’s eyes.

  (Doug) But don’t worry. I won’t be like my father.

  Reaching up to grab his hand, Kenichi got pulled up by Doug’s strength, as his boots clung deep into the parched soil beneath them. Looking straight into Doug’s eyes, he saw a snickle ember radiating from them as if a gauntlet rained free inside of his soul.

  (Doug) I want to connect and help as many people as I can, and that includes you, others, and even total strangers; with the wealth that I will receive.

  A hand clamped down onto his shoulder, softly firming on his shirt as the timid boy shyly nodded once. Smirking, Kenichi lifted his head up to the non-cloudy sky above, gazing up at the blocked stars that were stolen by the daylight.

  His other hand motionless to his side, the same was given to Doug.

  (Kenichi) I-I’ll help you any way I can. E. Even if it means that I become your bodyguard.

  A small dry chuckle leaped out of Doug’s lips, causing him to cover his hand with a balled fist while closing his eyes. Hunching his head forward, Kenichi’s hand that clamped down on Doug’s shoulder was pulled back to him, causing him to ball his fists.

  His face reddened, and he stomped his right foot along the root of the oak tree, sending a shiver of force along its bark.

  (Kenichi) W-Whatever…

  (Doug) You look more like an office man than a bodyguard. Ain’t no way you’ll be an MVP bodyguard with that body.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  (Christomonath 3, 45 / 8:41PM)

  Going back many years ago again.

  Inside the walls of a broken-down tavern, the wood that was built upon the foundation was heavily shot and torn. Splinters sticking out from every inch of the wood, even a normal person wearing boots would get wood stuck under their soles.

  Despite the building being worn out, people still dined and worked regardless of the infrastructure.

  Sitting themselves on the creaking bar stools that screamed from their hinges, two teens laid their hands on the counter. With a pianist playing ragtime in the back of the diner, it was as if the tavern tried to reclaim its old days.

  Days where the country used to be free from the law.

  (Doug) My father told me stories about many bar fights happening in this tavern. Now he says that people here have gone soft.

  (Kenichi) Well, tech has gotten better here. I’ve seen a couple of those machines that lead you to your destination without using donkeys.

  (Doug) Yeah … this country is leaving those days … and trying to become more like Kepputha and Ticia.

  In front of them, both had bottles of whiskey that were the size of their fingers. The glass bottles being nothing more than simple shots, Doug gripped it with his thumb and pointer finger and gulped it down in one single swoop. Rummaging the thick whiskey deep into his body, it left a burning trail down his throat, as it slammed right into the contents of his stomach.

  Clearing his throat, he spazzed out an abundance of air, his mouth reeked from just one shot of alcohol.

  (Doug) Damn, this thing is strong! Haven’t seen you try one yet.

  (Kenichi) I’ve never drunk alcohol before though.

  (Doug) Yeah, the people here don’t care even if you’re five. Unlike Kepputha or Ticia, there aren't any laws prohibiting kids from drinking.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Slowly, Kenichi grabbed the shot with his hand rather than his fingers. Bringing the tip of the glass just between his lips, he shyly let the burning liquid caress the entrance of his mouth, leading him to gulp down a load of saliva. Closing his eyes, he finally jerked his head back to allow the liquid to molest his mouth.

  Without even allowing the whiskey to plunge his throat, he spat it out, along with any extra saliva that stuck to his teeth.

  Seeing this, Doug immediately put his hand over his mouth, his other hand slamming onto the counter while shutting his eyes. Struggling to breathe, breathless wheezes coarse and grazed his windpipe and esophagus.

  (Doug) Oh, man! Hahahaha … You know how to make a man laugh!

  (Kenichi) S-Shut up! It just left a bad taste in my mouth, that’s all…

  Coming out from the back, a small and thin waitress came running out to find a rummage of whisky and saliva mixed together on the counter. Both of her eyes glared inward, her cheeks pouted as one of her hands wielded nothing but a white tablecloth and a bar of soap. The waitress cleansed the tabletop with soap before rubbing it with the cloth, doing it repeatedly as if she were washing a car.

  Upon seeing her, Doug had his breath taken away. With her blonde hair, thin body, and all-white waitress gown that covered her shoulders and ankles, he clutched both of his hands together before clearing his throat.

  (Doug) I haven’t seen you before. Are you new?

  (Waitress) First day in this tavern, but I had previous experience. Got fired from every tavern I worked in.

  (Doug) And why is that?

  (Waitress) Drunkards. Even during the demi-human skirmishes, those dumb apes would still drink the bar dry and touch anything they liked…

  (Doug) Well sorry to hear that.

  Standing up straight, he glued both of his turquoise-colored boots into the wooden floor that splintered his soles. Bowing down, he placed his right hand on his chest, causing the waitress to tilt her head to the right.

  A trickle of sweat ran down his right temple, he let his eyes see the vast darkness of his own mind.

  (Doug) My name is Doug Zirardge, the son of Albert Zirardge and the man who would inherit the wealth of my family name. I’m currently 17.

  Straightening his back, he softly looked toward the waitress who began to slightly blush red from her cheeks.

  Clutching both of his hands together, he had them hover over his crotch, ignoring the smugly smiling Kenichi who kept his smiling face hidden. Inhaling in a good chunk of the boozing air that burned his already parched throat, he kept eye contact with the now soft smiling waitress.

  (Doug) If you want. Is it okay if you tell me your name as well?

  The waitress spread both of her feet apart while placing her hands on her waist. Tilting her head up, she jerked her head to the left while maintaining a blushing face, despite her body radiating an aura of confidence.

  (Waitress) My name is Betty, Betty Mason. Raised with no father, I currently live with my widowed mom and help her financially. I am 19 years of age.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  (Prosinec 3, 46 / 8:01PM)

  Two months later.

  (???) Thank you for keeping an eye on my daughter. She’s not as weak as she looks.

  (Doug) Oh, no doubt. But I should thank you for allowing me to be in her presence.

  A chubby man sat on an unfurnished sofa.

  Having his hands folded with each other, he had his eyes on the wrinkled woman with blonde hair and green eyes. Forming a shining smile, Doug’s eyes widened, and his stomach felt as if an entire colony of butterflies were flying around with his digestional acid.

  Around them, the house was built out of creaky wood, the panels all unable to swoop the sunlight off of the horizon. The room dark and cramped, many boxes of unstoraged objects such as clothes and utensils all littered the floor, of which both the woman and Doug had their feet pressed upon.

  (Betty’s Mother) She gets that fiery side from her father. He was good but radiated an aura of confidence; until his confidence got the better of him…

  (Doug) Betty told me that story … my condolences.

  Doug glanced at a small table drawer near the bathroom door, and on the top of the drawer was a black and white picture nestling on the splintered wood. Seeing a man holding a hunting rifle with one hand, while the other a skinny and delicate woman, she carried a newborn baby with both her hands.

  Gazing his eyes off of the picture, he cleared his throat, unclenching his hands as he dropped them down to the sofa’s edge. The bottom of his smooth palms being pricked by the untethered cotton, his fingers dug deep into the unfinished leather.

  (Doug) If there’s anything that I could do to help you out … I would in a heartbeat.

  (Betty’s mother) You’re a sweet boy, but there’s no need to worry about me and Betty’s financial matters. Just focus on yourself and your family before you tend to you and Betty’s.

  Doug raised his right hand to scratch the back of his head. His fingers softening under his short dry hair, Doug let out a soft chuckle from both of his moistened lips.

  As he stood up with both of his turquoise-colored boots.

  Placing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his knuckles grazed the many hard pieces of paper that were situated inside of them, leading him to scrunch up his face the more he searched. Taking out a ball of cash that was held by a rubber band, he showcased it to the jaw-dropped woman.

  (Doug) To me, Betty is family. And if you're Betty’s mother, then that makes you family as well. So, please…

  Using his other hand, he softly wrapped it around her wrist, her bones fragile enough for a single gust of wind to wither away. The ball of money being hovered by none other than her hand, her fingers began to twitch, as a single gulp of dry saliva ran down her throat.

  (Doug) Take this money.

  She instantly took it.

  Her eyes analyzing the ball of hard cash, her wrinkled fingers grazed the edges of it the more she touched. Her breathing soft, her fingers scraping from the paper…

  A single tear rolled down her left cheek.

  Sniffling once, she swept away a river of mucus with her hand, using the front of her palms that met with the bottom of her nostrils. Looking up at the chubby man, her eyes continued to redden from the tears that held itself back.

  (Betty’s mother) I’ve longed for this day.

  Slowly, Doug tilted his head down, while turning his feet away to walk himself toward the front door. Reaching the handle, he gripped it firmly before a rough hand gripped his left shoulder, leading him to hover his hand on the handle.

  Turning his head to the right, both of his eyes softened under the teary-eyed woman who puckered her lips shut. Her throat quivering, another lightning tear rolled down her right eye, stalling on the edge of her jawline.

  (Betty’s mother) What can I do to repay you…?

  Inhaling an influx of air, he spewed it out as he turned his head to face the door. His hand clinging to the door handle, pushing up both corners of his lips, he turned the handle to sway the wooden door open, the crisp cool air blowing against his face.

  (Doug) You already are.

  Stepping into the winter desert, he softly closed the door behind him, his feet taking him to anywhere that may lead him to his destiny.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  (Prosinec 3, 46 / 8:34PM)

  In a small town just 15 minutes north of the Zirardge ranch.

  The wooden houses and taverns bustling with ranchers, cowboys, cowgirls, and one or two tourists, led it to be the happiest in Haxouburg. Wealth being notorious amongst many of the families, there were a few that led isolated lives away from the main town, with most of them living in the outskirts.

  Walking through the so-called outskirts of the wealthy town, Doug had both of his hands inside his pockets, gazing at the many depressed and worn-out faces of the poor. Keeping his head down, his turquoise boots pinned himself an antique to the people there, leading him to draw out a speckle of sweat from his temple.

  (Doug’s thoughts) For a wealthy town, there sure are a lot of the poor outside of it.

  Noticing a black silhouette hundreds of meters in front of him, Doug tilted his head up an inch, his irises nestling right below his upper eyelids. Keeping his hands balled in his pockets, both of his feet stayed situated on the red dirt, as the heels of his feet glued deep into the soil.

  Suddenly, the black silhouette began to trace a noticeable appearance.

  Squinting his eyes through the double new moon night, both moons from above couldn’t glow its idyllic rays. His breath slow, his beating heart heard from his perked-up ears, the man in front of him squished and slacked with just his sandals.

  Wearing a white robe that stretched down to his ankles, the man wore circular glasses; his hair being shaded in a light green.

  (Doug’s thoughts) Who is he?

  The white-robed man stopped.

  Both of his hands tucked away into his sleeves, he bridged them together so that not a seep of the poor dirty air around him would graze his arms. Unable to configure the man’s facial expression, the man just stood there, watching Doug with his head tilted to the right.

  Taking a step back, he was breathing heavily.

  (Doug’s thoughts) I shouldn’t be here any longer—

  (???) Hello.

  His entire spine shriveled up like a prune.

  His neck unable to turn itself back, and his eyes kept forward as the black silhouette was in back of him. Without blinking, without a second to register his main memory, his breath froze inside of his throat.

  While his wrists were held tight by just the man’s right hand.

  Pale enveloped his entire face, both of his knees buckled and froze like a deer seeing a car’s headlights. Every spore in his body loosened out with cold sweat, both of his legs wobbled repeatedly, violently, and worse of all…

  Weakly.

  (???) You don’t exactly belong in this type of environment yeah? Your boots and clothes seem too rich for these folks.

  Doug couldn’t even muster a simple word or sound.

  His throat still clustered with his air, a coarse breath whistled out from his nostrils. Blistering onto his upper lip, it dried up whatever moisture stuck to his lips, his tongue unable to break free from his puckered lips.

  The white-robed man clicked his tongue, as he turned the chubby old teen around. His eyes still large, Doug glanced at the priest-like man, noticing not a speck of facial hair regarding his voice.

  (???) I may seem young, but I know more about life than any man above my caliber. Anyway…

  The white-robed man let go of Doug’s wrists, as his left hand pulled out a bottle of liquid soap. Pouring it into his right hand, he scrubbed it together with both of his hands, squishing and clashing with the dry air that dried the bubbles along his knuckles.

  Using his left hand, he pulled out a simple glass bottle of water, pouring it onto his right hand as the soap mixed well with it. Finishing the bottle, he tucked it back into his robed pocket, as the soap and water already dripped down onto the dried-up dirt.

  Shaking away the many water particles on his hands, many of the droplets sprayed on Doug, as not a tint of water got onto the man’s robe.

  (???) The name’s Lazaros; Lazaros Roosevelt. You could call me a general of some sort.

  Doug took two steps back, both of his hands unclenched and free while having them frozen along his thighs. Keeping his saliva in his throat, his quivering throat ceased as Lazaro’s eyes and forehead did not match with his cold shriveled voice.

  Seeing no sign of wrinkles on his forehead or cheeks, Doug raised his right hand to scratch his cheek, his fingernails digging itself into his chipmunk cheeks. Red scratches stuck onto his skin, his eyes continued to widen.

  (Lazaros) This is not a dream Doug, nor would this be your nightmare, but I have a mission for you.

  Lazaros put both of his hands onto Doug’s shoulders.

  The ground below their feet soon enveloped them in a dense fog, Doug glanced up to see the sky above him being covered by that same fog. His colorful eyes went gray by the fog alone, his throat felt as if a knife was sticking into his esophagus, leading him to cough coarsely like he had tuberculosis.

  Slamming his knees onto the ground, both of his hands hovered over his throat, his eyes straining red from the air. The man in front of him unaffected by the fog, Lazaros took a big batch of air into his parched lungs, his eyes closing as a small smirk lit up on his right lip.

  (Lazaros) Up until this night, you will change. Everything that you planned to do, everything that you wanted to do, everything that you already did…

  Collapsing onto the ground, both of his eyes lost all color to his irises, leaving him to spread both of his arms and legs out. Closing his eyes, the last thing that his perked-up ears took to the soulful grave was…

  (Lazaros) Will be altered by you alone.