Sep 22, 2014
This week’s tackles some pretty hefty topics, mainly about why everyone always gotta fight. We’ll assume the Nobel is in the post.
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Germany
seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Algeria
seen from Ireland
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
This week’s tackles some pretty hefty topics, mainly about why everyone always gotta fight. We’ll assume the Nobel is in the post.
This week, Jon and Joe talk about superficiality in stories, and why it’s not alright we talk about Batman a lot. We eventually talk about other stuff, but it’s mostly Batman. Spoilers abound.
1-6: Stranded!
The shot’s thunder faded. The boat’s engine sputtered, rattled, then cut off. The only sound remaining was the muffled rush of the nearby river and the spray of the waterfall. Daniel’s father reloaded his rifle. “Come on boys, we need to move,” he said, dropping nimbly off the craft and into the water with a light splash. He was in up to his waist, holding the rifle at chest height and walking through the small pool in the direction he shot. Gavin followed. He hopped off and winced as he landed on the wrong leg. “Do you have any granola bars, Mister Gee?” he asked. “Any snacks at all, really. I’m starting to feel uh, what’s it called?” “Dizzy?” said Daniel. “Light-headed?” “Yeah, I’m feeling like those words.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “Oh, nevermind, I forgot I took some cheesy crackers when we left this morning.” Daniel lowered himself into the water. “We’ve both lost some blood, dad. We’re going to need to take a break here soon.” “Man, I should have waited, now I’m going to be thirsty,” said Gavin, chewing. Daniel’s father held up a hand and shushed them. He had stopped, crouching at the edge of the bank. The wind picked up quickly. It was blowing harder and coming from different directions. They heard what sounded like shouts in the distance, the beating of drums, and the stressed wails of machinery pushing past its limits. Gavin held his mouth open, cheesy mush in his teeth. “Are those forest spirits?” he said. Daniel’s father shushed again and shook his head. “Why would you even ask that?” Daniel whispered. “Oh, right,” said Gavin. “They’d have to be jungle spirits here. Duh.” The shouting and drumming were getting louder and closer.
1-4: Stranded!
The three men rode in the zodiac as it skipped lightly across the water, even against the current. The river was much wider and deeper than Daniel thought possible on an island. “How big is this place?” he said.
His father didn’t answer, focused on steering the boat and scanning the riverbanks.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said Gavin. “But taking into account the breadth of the river, the variety of plant and animal life we’ve passed-- The rich assortment of avifauna alone is remarkable--” he then gestured upward, “Adding those things to the fact that that’s the second biplane to go over, I’d probably go with ‘really big.’”
They each looked up as the aircraft flew out of sight and behind the jungle canopy, the sound of its engine covered by that of the zodiac.
Daniel looked to the rifle at his father’s side. “Do we know who that was, Dad?” he asked. The plane was quite far up-river, but he always preferred to be cautious. “Should we even be travelling in the open like this?”
His father shifted on his seat and looked at Daniel, “You always have preferred to be cautious,” he said. “But we’ll probably be okay.”
“I like the sound of that,” said Gavin. “I probably wanted to make it home alive.”
Daniel’s father put both hands to the tiller and pulled. The boat turned sharply and veered into a small, and rocky, tributary. Significantly rocky. They hit one, and the boat leapt. Daniel briefly rose off of his seat.
“What the hell are--”
He landed back on it hard. The boat splashed and rocked as Daniel’s father continued to steer them straight toward the bottom end of a seventy-foot, vertical waterfall.
The engine revved and they accelerated. They hit a ramp. The boat jumped.
1-2: Stranded!
“Stop wasting time, boys,” said a voice behind them. “These next hours will be more critical than you realize.”
It was Daniel’s father, standing in the sand, feet bare. His face was serious, with permanent lines wrinkled down either side of his mouth, and a several-day, sandpapery stubble along his jaw and chin. His shirt was white, decorated by a pattern of blue lilies. The top buttons were undone, showing silvered hair that matched the wisps on top of his head that tossed about in the ocean breeze. Daniel couldn’t remember his father ever looking so comfortable.
“So it’s LOST, then?” said Gavin. He pointed an arm to Daniel and opened his eyes wide. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”
Another time, Daniel may have laughed. He looked at Gavin. He saw the blood drying across his temple and down the area behind his ear. There was a lot of it. There was a large tear in his pants down one of his thighs, too, and the fabric surrounding his knee was soaked a deep red. It glistened, but Gavin didn’t show any pain in his walk or expression.
The sea continued. There was no sound of birds or of insects. There were no clouds in the sky. There was no smoke rising from what was left of the plane a short distance away. But the sea continued to push the tide in wave by wave. It roared and it crashed forward, and it hissed back down into itself, gaining inches slowly.
“We’ll need to salvage what equipment we can find,” his father said. “And we’ll need to do it quickly.”
“But Dad,” said Daniel, “what are you even doing--”
“You need to stop wasting time, Dan,” his father repeated. “This is no game.”
