Moby Dick in Space

prologue

Wit

Crash!

With the sound of glass shattering against tin walls, my eyes popped open. Letting out a sigh, I rolled to a sitting position.

Why does this happen every morning?

“You bitch! Who do you think you're talking to?!” A woman roared, sending another article of glass sailing through the trailer.

Crash!

“Bitch! Get out of my fucking house!” she yelled.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?!” The man yelled back - no doubt bewildered by the woman's behavior.

Sorry, man. That's just how she is.

“I told you to get out!” A slap echoed along the metallic walls and carried through the thin door.

Even I winced. Poor guy.

Letting out a cry, the man took steps toward the trailer door. “Alright! I’ll leave your twenty on the counter...I’ll be back in a few days, you crazy bitch.” He huffed.

“Next time! Don't come! Talkin 'bout me like I'm some who-!”

The door slammed closed before she finished and the room went deathly quiet.

Oof. Nice alarm, huh?

The woman started cleaning, and the only thing audible for a while was the sound of glass sliding across the floor and clinking into a pile.

When did I get used to this, I wondered. Almost two years now?

“...Damnit” she whispered, sobbing while she swept the floor. Shaking my head, I didn’t even feel bad.

I believe it's called karma.

Her name was Sammy; she was my aunt, my foster mom, and the woman who ruined my life. She really was a bitch and she really was a whore, because that’s what she does: she has sex for money. She'd never graduated from high school and her personality barred her from any jobs willing to give her a chance. Her being a whore is whatever - make your money, however you do it. What I hated her for is what she did to me. She adopted me when my parents died a few years ago, but what should have been a great change to an orphan’s life has been nothing but torment. The first reality check of many to come.

Letting out a tired breath, as I seem to do every morning now, I rubbed my eyes and arched my neck in a yawn. But feeling something in my throat I wretched out a cough instead. A clump of dust had loosened from the earlier spat and landed in the back of my throat while I was yawning.

I let out another sigh. It’s a hard-knock life.

Peaking through a crack along the thin tin trailer wall, I noticed that the morning had already begun. Oop, I gotta go.

I got off the piece of cardboard that I called a bed, slipped on a paperback book, and immediately bumped into the opposite wall - I slept in a closet, harry potter style, so the space was already small but the walkable area was made even smaller by tens of books lying in stacks. They lined the cardboard into a sort of bed frame and rose almost ten volumes in some sections.

They were my haven...in more ways than one.

Catching my shortfall, I blindly grappled for the rope light-switch hung somewhere along the top of the room. Got it. Clasping my hands around the metal string, I tugged down. "And then there was light," I whispered with a smirk as a pitch black closet became dimly lit. What brand is this anyways? These lights blow.

Turning to the other side of the room, I got ready for school. Months ago I had hammered a nail through one of the walls and used it to hang up a garbage bag that held everything I owned - mostly things my parents got me before...they passed.

Anyways, it had my school uniform: a dirty, white button-up shirt, a pair of grey slacks that I'd hand-cut into shorts, beige sandals, and a pair of beaten brown dress shoes. There was also few pictures of my parents littered around and the last few dollars I’d saved from holidays back in the day. I’d pinched pennies and ate only what I needed, but after two years I was finally down to my last two dollars.

My hands formed fists around the money, crumpling the bills into balls. Damnit. It was so frustrating. I'd tried to find a job, but no one would hire me. Old crackheads and middle-aged methheads crowded out the market. Not able to get proper jobs, they worked everywhere nearby in droves: cashiers, baggers, mailmen, landscapers; they worked every job a kid could do. If I run out of money then...I didn't even want to think about what I'd have to do.

Breathe, Wit. Relax. Everything has a way of working out.

After getting dressed, I cracked the door open and peaked into the next room. Garbage lined the walls and stains littered the furniture, but I couldn’t see crazy Sammy. She must've stayed in her room. Score! I scurried out the door and took gentle steps through the narrow trailer, careful not to creak the flimsy floorboard. I tiptoed around a large pile of broken plates, only to end up stepping on something slimy and rubber.

Splat~

Goop squirt out and lathered itself between my toes. What is that? I looked down and my eyes opened in horror.

...are you fucking kidding me?

I held in a gag and continued through the war-torn mobile home. Holding the bile in my mouth, I pushed through the door, which was just layered mosquito mesh. I don’t know how that passed the home inspection. Shit. Is. Mutha. Fuckin. Cold. As soon as I was outside, I hurried to the edge of the porch and hurled over the railing.

It took a few moments before I finally finished hacking up my soul. I spit the last bit of brown sludge out, but as fate would have it, the wind rushed in and carried it back onto my white shirt.

Great. That’s awesome.

I sighed.

I’d only just stepped outside and the cold winds were already biting at the tip of my nose and the rims of my ears. Outside, dawn was setting with a violet haze and brisk autumn air was making its round on the rural life. But, oh so, unfortunately, the genius that I am left the house dressed like a Hawaiian gigolo: unbuttoned button-up, board shorts, and sandals.

I’m cold, but it’s whatever, I is what I is and I do’s what I do, and if you don’t like that shit then screws you...me. Why am I talking to myself? Wiping the leftover goop off my lip, I made my way across the porch. I needed to get my trot on before ‘Sammy the Kindly Foster Mom’ showed up and railed into my ass with her wooden broom.

Damn, my social worker needed to be fired for giving her a child, if nothing else. The woman was clearly deranged; she keeps me in a closet, beats me, and if I wasn’t resourceful she’d be starving me too. I’d already called the police three times, and they said they’d look into it. But over the months, I’d come to realize that the authorities had long since abandoned this crime-ridden trailer park.

And so I was stuck here.

Looking back on things, I shook my head. How could two sisters be so different? My mom was a kind and dignified woman who started her own travel agency, while Sammy was the Devil's reincarnate. My mom escaped all this and I think that’s why Sammy hated us.

My mom got a scholarship to a good college and moved away from this shit hole. After a few years she got married to my dad and had me. And, if I do say so myself, she did a damn good job raising me. Till she passed away, I’d never even heard of the word hardship.

I was born and raised in a wealthy home with nice cars and expensive foods. I was sent to a private school every morning and picked up by brown-nosing housemaids who ‘adored’ me. But most of all, I was raised by parents who loved me.

My head sunk. You don’t know what you have til’ it’s gone, I guess. So I try to enjoy the little things in life. Following that line of thought, I ducked under the broken overhang and did a dance down the suppl-CREAK...wooden stairs.

Doo-Doo.

Two steps this time!

“Uh-uh”

“Now sliiide to the-“

“Witlin! What are you doing on my fuckin' stairs?!”

Her banshee shriek startled me and before I could react she nailed me with her broom. I’m pretty sure the damn thing broke against my temple. The impact sent me sailing down the last two steps and stumbling to the dirt ground. She started making her way out of the mesh door with her broken nails like a demon from hell, and the abusive she-devil was revealed under the street light. God, I couldn’t even look at her. I’d seen that red hair in my nightmares too many times. And those black eyes - oh those beady black eyes - were just a perfect reflection of her soul. Her mouth stretched open wide like the snake I knew she was, and she screamed at me again.

“Boy! I dun' told you a million times not to make no got damn noise in my got damn house!.”

Reaching for my head, I placed my hand over the cut to stop the bleeding. “Fuck woman. Chill out.” I heaved under my breath, low enough that I was sure she couldn’t hear it. I got to my feet, brushed the dirt off my ass, and was running up the road before she could even make it down the second step.

Run. Run. Run. Don’t look back Wit!

I ran around the run-down off-white trailers spread all around the lot and into safe rural plains. Outside the park, middle-class homes were spread out along a rising hill. I came across one house, another house, one windmill, and another house. I didn’t stop running until I made it to the very top of the rocky slopes that sat between trailer-life and a booming metropolis. Only when I was at the very peak did I take a labored breath and sit down.

The cliff overlooked both the city and the trailer park, and from this height, you could see everything. The trailer was shit, of course, I mean, let’s be real. What’s great about a trailer park? But the reason I loved the view from up here was that I could see the city. It was like a dream; it had streets packed with rolling cars, lined with apartments with happy kids, happy families, and their stupid happy lives.

Woah, that got depressing.

Turning my focus, I could even see my school from here. Prince’s Elementry: school for the gifted and talented. It was just what it said it was; loads of boring shit and nerd jargon. I’d never liked it; not the repetitive studying, not the snobby kids, and especially not after everyone found out I was poor.

School sucked, but it was better than time in the trailer. After my parents died, I had nowhere to go and no way to take care of myself. I had no money, and Sammy was Sammy, so no help there. I didn’t take school seriously before, but now it was the only place I could go to get away from Sammy without her being able to call social services.

Every time I go somewhere, it’s: ‘I have a runaway!’

Damnit! She doesn’t want her meal ticket to get away, and that’s my problem with her: she uses me for my family’s money, and it’s disgusting. The way she cakes herself in makeup and flirts with my social worker makes my skin crawl, and no matter what I say, he takes her word over my own.

I buried my face in my hands and let out a muffled scream.

God, I miss my parents. Looking over part of the hill where it broke off into a cliff...I wondered whether I should just end it. I can't take this anymore.

"..."

Woosh—

Ahhh, that wind’s starting to feel really good right now.

Drip.

I looked at the drop of sweat that hit my foot and saw a red splatter instead.

I sighed. Woe is I.

I took off my shirt and rubbed my temple with it. She got me good. The amount of blood coming out and the throbbing probably meant I was in trouble. Blood was rushing out of what felt like a three inch cut along the side of my forehead. It bled down my chin and fell onto my stolen-er re-purposed beige Birkenstocks.

Damnit, these were hard to get!

Ugh...

“Can this get any worse?”

Grumbling all manner of foul-mouthed curses, I looked up at the sky and imagined my mom's voice.

‘Look to the stars Alister and your path shall be made clear.’

It’s something my mom always said when she knew I was out of it, because my mother was many things...and a hippy was one of them. I never took her hippy shit seriously, but since she passed, I’d been hoping the sky would have some answers.

Tonight, today, what’s the word for morning? Tomorning? Tomorning was dark and the stars were still out, showing through the thin smog of the city. I could make out a few of the constellations, but I was looking for something vague, something hippy.

“Speak to me sky, I need answers!” I yelled into space, waiting for the sky to answer me. I sat there for a few minutes in silence. Well, I guess that’s my answer. Resigning myself to fate, I stood up with a sigh.

“Where’s my god?” I whispered, eyes burning with frustrated tears. But before I started another grueling day, I looked up at the sky one last time for an answer, and that’s where I saw it: my hippy sign. A neon blue line was arching through the sky. It was curved and bright like Aurora’s lights and stretched to the length of a football field.

Screee—

It tore open with a shriek and stretched out like torn paper. Well, this is the weirdest thing I’ve seen all day. What was weirder though was the white whale that came through the tear, like a finger through that same paper hole, with its head first. The creature was really really white. Think of a blue whale. Make it white. This was it...with antlers. The wormhole it came out of was unfortunately placed; probably a mile above me and facing parallel to the ground. So basically, right on fucking top of me. Slowly, Moby came out of his space home and I got a good look at the big boy.

Oh my god, biggest white Dick ever. It was as wide as my peripheral vision expanded, and I could only imagine the length behind the head. Moby breached the tear and the spatial rift closed behind him. For a full minute I stared at it and it’s gold eyes, I felt, were focused on me too. I felt the wind whistling through the rocks, but me and Moby stood and-er floated motionlessly.

“Hey there budd-“ ROOOAAR

It opened its mouth and the ground shook under the raw power it produced. Covering my ears didn’t stop the roar from shaking my eardrums. My fingers were curled around my ears, but the eardrums popped and opened to a dam of blood that sloshed between my fingers and poured down my hands.

I looked up to see the mutha fucka diving at me. What the fuck? It moved faster than I could react and by the time I even thought of running away, it was already on top of me. It opened its mouth, exposing tens of rows of teeth the length of cable poles.

“Awwww” I closed my eyes and screamed like a little girl, waiting to be eaten.

“Awwwwww——“

I screamed my lungs out...and nothing: no roaring, no sharp teeth, no violent death.

Why haven’t I been eaten yet?

Nervously, I took a peek through one eye and then jumped back. A few feet in front of me, there was a man just standing there. I stared at him and stroked my chin in confusion.

Where did he come from? I looked up at the sky and the whale was gone. Where did he go? Turning back to the man, I noticed how odd he was. Just where did he come from?

Cotton Eye Joe looked older than me by a few years, so maybe seventeen-eighteen. His skin was chalky white and his hair was an even lighter silver. The guy had two small antlers on his head decorated with white roses like marshmallow sticks. He wore a thick dark-colored overcoat lined with lush white fur, and his monochrome ensemble made his golden eyes practically glow.

...or were they actually glowing?

I couldn’t tell; it was like he was there but he wasn't there. I could make out his features but he was almost translucent, fading in and out of solid form.

He looked around and let out a sigh. His eyes looked disappointed and tired.

“Wuma ‘ gh oaghoaa.” He lamented.

Turning to the city lights, he admired them the same way I was. I knew that look. It only took me a second to realize what it was, because I had it every day.

He was lost.

As scared of him as I was, I, in my infinite wisdom, walked up behind him, lifted my hand, and tried to rub his head.

Why?

Because it’s what I wanted someone to do for me right about now.

My hand phased through his head though. Well, that was a fail. I tried again, but this time I let my hand hover just above his head. I was going for the sentiment so contact wasn’t too important. I couldn’t see his reaction from behind so I just continued. He didn’t fuss when I touched him, instead, we stood there together, enjoying the moment. That was until he turned his head and I saw a tear slip out his gold eye.

“Amo iya’au hoannity?” He spoke softly. He looked at me for a response, but I didn't know what to say.

Shit. He’s speaking another language. What do I do? I made an ‘x’ across my chest. “I don’t speak your language, dawg. No hablo.” I tried a few different ways to tell him I couldn’t understand and I was hoping he would understand at least one of them.

He nodded his head, “I’rr soc iya’au oalloaiy.” he said, turning away from me.

He reached his hand out to empty space and lifted a finger. The end of his finger hooked on something and when he tugged down with his hand it was like he unzipped space. The line he made was a chaos of colors I’d never seen before; they were absolutely beautiful. He stuck his hands through and spread the tear out till it looked like a door.

The man looked back at me and gave me a sincere smile. “Faiyo” he waved, and stepped through the door, disappearing into the unknown space.

Swallowing a gulp, I was stunned into indecision. Is he just leaving this thing open? Am I supposed to follow him? Does he want me to? I guess I don’t have to. I thought of all the bad things that could happen if I went: I could die, I could be tortured, I may never come back. But when I thought over the reasons to stay behind...I couldn't think of any. I wanted to leave, and if I died...would that be so bad? There was nothing here for me anymore.

Looking to the skies one more time, I whispered, “goodbye mom,” before stepping into the unknown.