The Lands of the Rising Sun

Part Two: Look on the Brightside

"I don't know boss he doesn't look too good..." Pop-tart said. The four of us were leaning over the half-dead man barely leaving him breathing space; though soon enough he wouldn't need it. "Yeah well I don't remember asking for your opinion," I said. I knew that little girl hadn't duped me; in fact I knew exactly who this was. Though his face was a bit fucked up I would recognize it anywhere. The Pensington's had their faces posted all over this side of the wastelands and the man in front of me is in every one of those posters. "You guys really don't recognize him do you?" I said. Pop-tart, Chucky and Snake took a closer look. "I-I don't think I ever s-seent him in my life Gar," Chucky uttered with the usual twitch of the eye and snap of the wrist. "Yeah?" I said turning to Snake, "And what about you?"

"He looksth awfully familiar bossth, like I know him from thsomewhere," Snake said choking on his horrific lisp. I sighed, "Y'all are about as dumb as you look ain't you?" The three stood up in a line to address me. "This man here is a Pensington," I began pacing rubbing my scruffy chin. "Now what that girl said about all that bounty bullshit, is well... a bunch of bullshit, but..." I took out a cigarette and lit it. With a long drag I continued. "But this man here has got to be worth some money and I know exactly where to take him." I bent down in front of him watching the life slowing spilling from the gash on his eye. "Well, we'd better get him some help before he bleeds out." "I don't know bossth, I think this isth a wasthe of time." My short temper always got the best of me as I harshly blew smoke in Snake's face. "A wasthe of time huh?" I mimicked him. "I guess me... oh so unselfishly taking you away from that god-awful family of yours and raising you as my own flesh and fuckin blood!... was a waste of time too then, huh?" I don't think I could have been any closer to his face without kissing him. "Well bossth... I was just sayin... It'sth not like I don't apprecthiate what you did for me... I just-" I cut him off with a pat on the cheek. "It's fine ol' boy, I understand you're just looking out for the best, but that's what I'm here for," I said with a smile. "Right..." Snake said. "Now then lets get this mother fucker to our ol' buddy Doctor Coz!" I said walking toward our cars. I had never actually met Doctor Coz, but I heard he could perform miracles.

Snake and Pop-tart picked the poor bastard up one by the legs and the other the head and carted him behind Chucky and I. The walk was just a few blocks, but enough for Chucky to lose interest and start slitting his wrist with his favorite pocketknife. "Stop that shit Chucky," I said grabbing the knife from him. He twitched his eye and snapped his wrist then jumped at me, "It's mine! You can't have it! It's mine!" I grabbed him by his greasy head and held him close. "Shh, it's okay Chucky, shhh... I told Momma I wouldn't let nothin or no one hurt her lil' Chucky, now didn't I?" Chucky calmed a bit as I rubbed his head. "B-but it's m-mine..."

"I know Chucky, I'll give it back when you promise to stop cuttin yourself." The rest of the walk was silent besides Chucky murmuring, "It's mine," every couple steps. Its things like this that makes me miss painkillers and whisky. But mostly the painkillers.

After a series of failed attempts, arguments and a couple "fuck you's," the dumbasses managed to get the half dead mess in to the back seat. I tried my best to keep in my rage, after all this car was my baby. Nothing like it in the entire wastelands, equipped with a wheel locking mechanism that I designed, you wouldn't guess how many people steal cars. With a matte black finish, the only compliment was the off-white interior, which was now covered in blood.

The road to Thirty was long, but that was the closest town with a doctor. The car ride was mostly silent except for Chucky's occasional outburst of profanity. The lights from the towns were too distant to disturb the stars. The glow that fell through the window was enough for me to clean my pistol. The memories rang through my head as I pushed the slide lock; the lack of oil gave the gun a rough feeling, grinding the metal.