As I watched the tent sway precariously, Paul's corner collapsing yet again, a mix of frustration and resignation settled over me. Shouting "Hey!" from across the tent, I couldn't help but marvel at the irony of our situation. Here we were, stranded on an alien planet, and our immediate challenge was not battling extraterrestrial elements or deciphering an alien landscape but rather, the seemingly simple task of erecting a tent.
Paul's apologetic "Sorry," floated back to me for what felt like the hundredth time. The sincerity of his apology did little to temper my irritation. I found myself wondering, not for the first time, if Luke had deliberately chosen a ten-man tent to test our patience and teamwork skills. The tent's size made it impossible for one person to manage alone, forcing us to rely on each other. In theory, a good idea, but in practice, with Paul's lack of dexterity, it was proving to be a Herculean task.
Watching Paul release the pole once more, the tent's structure wobbling before succumbing to gravity, my patience finally snapped. "For fuck's sake!" I hissed, my voice a mixture of anger and desperation. The repetition of this cycle, the constant collapse and rebuild, was not just a physical drain but an emotional one as well.
"Finally!" Paul called out, running to greet Luke as he approached.
"I wasn't gone that long," Luke's casual response, as he handed over the supplies, underscored his unawareness of the struggle Paul and I faced in his absence. The challenges that seemed monumental to us were mere blips in the broader scope of our survival efforts.
Proudly, I gestured towards the partially erected tent, eager for Luke to acknowledge our efforts. "You were gone long enough," I boasted, my words a mix of pride and a hint of reproach for leaving us to fend for ourselves. Luke's commendation, "You've made good progress. You'll have it finished in no time," was delivered with his usual optimism, a trait that, despite my frustrations, I couldn't help but admire.
Luke's mention of needing to find Paul some clothes before giving the tent a closer inspection felt like a subtle dismissal of our achievement. However, his promise to return quickly left me hopeful that we could indeed finish the task at hand without further setbacks.
As Luke departed once more, I turned back to the task, calling Paul back to work. "Come on, clumsy," I teased, the nickname a light-hearted jab meant to spur us into action rather than to criticise. “Let’s get this bloody tent finished.”
With renewed determination, I positioned the tent pole, feeling the structure's weight shift as we hoisted the roof. Paul's cooperation, his corner rising in tandem with mine, was a small victory. The satisfying snap of the pole locking into place was a sign of progress, a tangible indicator that, despite the odds, we were capable of working together effectively.
Stepping back to admire the fully erected tent, its dark green canvas stark against the backdrop of Clivilius's vast, orange and brown dust, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. "Done," I whispered, the word a quiet acknowledgment of our accomplishment.
Luke's enthusiasm shattered the silence, his voice carrying across the distance with genuine admiration. "The tent looks amazing! Is it finished now?" His question, laden with an optimism I found both comforting and jarring, reminded me of the contrast between our current achievements and the life we had left behind.
"Pretty much," I responded, feeling the weight of my suitcase as Luke handed it over to me, a tangible link to the life and responsibilities I had been forcibly detached from. Paul, retrieving his own overnight bag, shared a look with me, an unspoken understanding of the gravity encapsulated within these simple acts.
Luke's next words struck a chord, tethering me back to a reality I longed for yet felt impossibly distant. "Duke misses you," he said, his voice tinged with a sadness that mirrored my own. "He knew as soon as I got the suitcase out that you were going away." The mental image of Duke, my loyal companion, sensing my departure before I had even said goodbye, opened a floodgate of emotions I had been struggling to contain.
The impact of Luke's words, the mention of Duke, transported me momentarily back to a life filled with the comfort of routine, the presence of loved ones, and the security of home. Standing there, amidst the desolation of Clivilius, the full realisation of what had been lost washed over me. "I miss him too," I admitted, the words heavy with the sorrow of separation, the longing for a return to normalcy, and the painful acknowledgment of a life that now seemed more like a distant dream than a reality I could reclaim.
"Take these back with you," said Paul, shoving several full black garbage bags at Luke. The bags sagged under the weight of more discarded tent packaging.
Luke's brow furrowed as he looked at the bulging bags of rubbish. He scratched his head, visibly perplexed. "I don't think the bin will fit both of those."
Paul, always the optimist, flashed a supportive smile. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he encouraged. His eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope. "We've also made a small pile of cardboard and stuff we can burn, over there," he said, pointing just off to the right of the tent. The pile was a hodgepodge collection of flattened boxes and other combustible packaging, a preparation for when the darkness invariably arrived.
Luke, relieved by Paul's support, smiled approvingly in return. He took the bags from Paul and began his slow trudge back to the Portal, the weight of the waste making each step a cumbersome effort.
For a moment, I considered following after him, my gaze lingering on Luke's retreating figure. The thought of helping him crossed my mind, a flicker of camaraderie in the midst of our shared struggle. But the Portal's continual rejection, and particularly its incandescent response to my most determined effort, made me more than a little weary. The countless attempts to traverse the portal had left me physically and emotionally drained, like a boxer who had taken one too many hits in a never-ending bout.
"We may as well unpack these in the tent," I grumbled, hefting my suitcase with exaggerated effort. My biceps strained under the weight of the case, and a bead of sweat formed on my forehead. I couldn't help but think, Shit, Luke must have squeezed my entire wardrobe in here.
Paul dragged his own bag behind me, the wheels squelching through the dusty ground. "And put them away where?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm, as we entered the dimly lit tent.
I scoffed in frustration, my patience wearing thin. "For fuck's sake," I muttered harshly, setting the suitcase down in the tent's right wing. Paul's right; the only place for our clothes is to scatter them over the bare floor.
Paul didn't waste any time. He rummaged through his bag, the rustling of clothes echoing in the confined space, and finally pulled a faded blue singlet over his head. "I'm going for a walk," he announced, his voice tinged with annoyance as he made his exit from the tent.
I watched Paul through the fly mesh of the front flaps as he collected the new shovel and rolls of toilet paper. The sight of him trudging away into the desolate landscape felt like a small victory in itself.
"Good," I muttered to no one in particular, my frustration simmering. "Go and bury your shit." The words hung in the air, a bitter reminder of our grim reality as Paul faded into the distance, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the suffocating solitude of the tent.
I knew I had no real reason to be mad at Paul. It was his brother that I was really mad at. Luke, the ever-elusive wanderer, could come and go as he pleased, while I felt tethered to this desolate place. It's not fair. Not fair at all.
Staring at the unopened suitcase, my frustration found an outlet as I knelt beside it, my fingers tracing the path of the black zipper. The cold metal sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine, a stark contrast to the stuffily warm air that enveloped me.
"Where's Paul?" asked Luke, his voice tinged with panic as he pushed his way into the tent, interrupting my moment of quiet contemplation.
"Gone to bury his shit," I replied, without looking up from where my head was busy discovering the contents of the suitcase. I needed something to occupy my mind, something to distract me from the gnawing resentment that simmered beneath the surface.
"Oh," said Luke, his demeanour becoming instantly calmer. It irked me how easily he could switch between states of concern and indifference.
"What's got you in such a flurry?" I asked, my voice tinged with irritation.
"Nothing. I just had a moment and thought maybe something had happened to him," Luke explained, his gaze averted.
I turned to Luke, revealing a sour pout. "He might not be my favourite person, but I certainly wouldn't hurt him," I said curtly, the words laced with bitterness. And then, with a dismissive huff, I went back to rummaging through the suitcase.
"I wasn't suggesting you would," Luke replied, his voice carrying an undertone of resignation. It was clear that the tensions between us were a heavy burden, and the weight of our circumstances continued to press down upon us like an unyielding force.
"Really?" I asked incredulously, holding up a shiny, bright green thong, the fluorescent fabric almost blinding in the dim tent.
"I thought you liked it?" shrugged Luke innocently, his face a picture of faux innocence as he feigned ignorance.
"You mean you like it," I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm as I tossed the provocative piece of underwear back into the suitcase. Luke always had a knack for picking out sexy lingerie. It was his way of trying to keep our dwindling spark alive.
"You can wear them under your swimmers," said Luke, attempting to salvage his choice.
Typical Luke, I thought, rolling my eyes. Sexy underwear and silky fabrics formed the foundation of Luke's sexual fantasies, but I only wore them because I knew it turned Luke wild. I sighed softly, a hint of nostalgia creeping in. Nostalgia seemed all that remained of our once passionate sex life. It must have been at least two years now since we had done anything more than a kiss here or there, maybe the occasional handjob. But to be honest, I wasn't really bothered by our lack of physical intimacy.
As I stared at the jumbled mess of clothes in the suitcase, a bittersweet feeling washed over me. Our relationship had evolved into something different, something less passionate but strangely comforting in its familiarity. In the end, I realised that perhaps physical intimacy wasn't the only way to measure the depth of our connection.
"Well, in any case, you can use these to start a fire," Luke told me abruptly, changing the topic of conversation as he held up several of his university books.
"Thanks," I said, my gratitude laced with a touch of resignation. "But those books won't last long."
"I know. But I'm not sure we have anything else just yet," Luke admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground as he considered our limited resources.
"You could take the car down to the petrol station on Main Road. They usually have small bags of firewood for sale," I suggested, knowing full well the reluctance that Luke had towards driving.
Luke looked incredulously at me, his eyes narrowing. "But you know I hate driving."
"Well, perhaps it might be a good time to start liking it," I said, unable to resist a smug undertone. My mind raced with thoughts left unspoken, like, 'After all, you have imprisoned your usual chauffeur on an alien planet or alternate reality or some shit like that.'
Luke rolled his eyes at my not-so-subtle jab. "I'll bring you a mattress too. Then you won't have to sleep on the dirt."
"Sure," I replied tersely, not wanting to give in to the lingering resentment that threatened to boil over.
Luke left the university textbooks outside the door of the tent when he left, a tangible reminder of our precarious situation. As I watched him walk away, the weight of our predicament pressed down on me, and I couldn't help but wonder how much longer we could endure this endless ordeal.
Pausing to think for a moment, Paul might be a while yet and the tent is up. There's no rush for Paul to return. It might be good for Luke and I...
Making my mind up, I removed my jeans and undies and slipped into the spandex thong, adjusting my dick until it sat comfortably in the snug pouch. I don't look half bad in a thong, I thought, as a weary grin spread across my face.
I threw my undies into the suitcase. Better to be safe than sorry, I thought, and pulled my jeans back on. And then I stepped back out into the warm sun.
"Where's the shovel?" I asked, my eyes widening with surprise and a tinge of disappointment as I saw that Paul had returned to camp already.
"Oh," replied Paul nonchalantly. "I've left it in the ground to mark our toilet spot. We can use that as our guide. We may as well do our business in a single location."
My face scrunched up in distaste. The thought of going near Paul's waste didn't exactly thrill me. "I guess," I finally said, begrudgingly accepting the practicality of his suggestion.
"Maybe we should build a long drop," I mused aloud, contemplating the idea.
"A long drop?" Paul raised an eyebrow, clearly perplexed.
"Yeah," I said, my voice tinged with resignation. "Although I'm not really sure how we do that." I confessed dryly, my sarcasm masking the growing sense of hopelessness that gnawed at me. I paused briefly before adding in a defeated tone, "We're going to die here."
Paul's momentary contemplation was cut short by the sound of Luke's return, a welcome interruption signalling that perhaps our situation was about to become a touch more bearable. "The mattress!" I exclaimed, the mere mention of it injecting a brief surge of energy into my weary limbs. I moved towards the Portal with a sense of purpose, eager to greet this small token of comfort from our old life.
As we approached Luke, it was clear that the task of transporting a King-sized mattress through the Portal was not one he could manage alone. Without any need for words, Paul and I instinctively joined in, each of us taking a corner to ensure the mattress was carried with care rather than dragged through the unforgiving Clivilius dust.
Following the mattress, Luke brought through a few sheets and blankets, their familiar textures and smells a stark contrast to the landscape that surrounded us. Holding the bedding in my hands, I was momentarily transported back to Earth, to a time when such items were taken for granted rather than celebrated as luxuries.
The arrival of these items, the mattress, sheets, and blankets, symbolised more than just physical comfort; they represented a thread of hope, a connection to our past lives, and a reminder of the potential for moments of peace and normalcy. As we arranged the mattress inside the tent, the task felt like a small victory, a step towards making this place a home, even if only temporarily.
"Sorry, there's only one tent and a mattress," Luke said, his tone apologetic yet matter-of-fact.
"I can't believe we haven't even been here for twenty-four hours yet," Paul said. "It feels like a week already." His words echoed my own sentiments, the surreal elongation of time in this place making each hour feel like a day.
"I know," I agreed with Paul's observation. "At least I might get a decent night's sleep without Duke and Henri," I joked, trying to find a sliver of humour in our predicament.
Luke's laughter followed, his next words playful yet poignant. "And I forgive you for sleeping with my brother for a night."
The banter elicited genuine laughter from Paul and me, a momentary reprieve from the stress of our situation. It was in this light-hearted exchange that I found myself truly seeing Luke again—not just as the person who had, in some way, led us to this predicament, but as the thoughtful, caring man I knew him to be. It was a gentle reminder of the qualities that had drawn me to him in the first place.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat a testament to the complex emotions swirling within me. Somewhere along the line, amidst the ongoing struggles of everyday life, I had momentarily lost sight of the man I loved. The realisation was both a revelation and a reconciliation, a silent promise to myself to not lose sight of those qualities again, despite the challenges we faced.
"I've ordered a few more tents," Luke announced, his words slicing through the remnants of our laughter and banter, grounding us back in the reality of our situation. "They should arrive tomorrow."
"I hope they are at least as big as this one," Paul remarked. "I could get used to having that much space to myself." It was a small glimpse into the ways in which he was already beginning to envision a more sustainable existence here.
"Yes. They're the same size," Luke confirmed, addressing Paul's concern directly.
The conversation then shifted towards a more immediate need. "Now," I pressed Luke, "That wood you were going to get?" The question was a nudge, a reminder of the necessity to prepare for the coming night, which promised to be as much a challenge as any other aspect of our lives in Clivilius.
Paul looked at Luke. "Wood?"
Luke's reaction, a hard swallow, did not go unnoticed. It was a physical manifestation of some internal struggle or realisation, a moment of vulnerability that belied the façade of control he often projected. "I'll get it right now," he declared, a statement that felt more like a commitment to action than a simple response to our queries.
Luke's mysterious demeanour, his moments of opacity, had become more pronounced in Clivilius. The man I thought I knew so well had become an enigma in many ways, his thoughts and motivations obscured by the extraordinary circumstances we found ourselves in.
"Where are you off to?" I asked, a question prompted by a mix of curiosity and concern. Paul’s response, simple and straightforward, underscored a basic human need for relief and a momentary escape from our new, harsh reality. "We've been sitting here for ages," he said, his voice carrying a hint of restlessness that I couldn't help but empathise with.
"So?" My question was more of a reflex than a genuine inquiry, an attempt to engage further, perhaps to delay his departure or to express my own frustration with the situation.
"So, I'm going to go have a quick dip in the river," Paul replied, his determination clear. His swift departure, before I could offer any form of protest or perhaps an invitation to join, left me momentarily taken aback. The idea of a cool dip was tempting, yet the inertia of my own discomfort kept me stationary.
I sighed, a sound heavy with resignation. The heat was oppressive, a constant companion that made the dust stick to my skin, creating a layer of grime that felt as if it penetrated to the soul. The stillness of the Portal, a reminder of our isolation and the uncertainty of our situation, loomed large in my mind. How much longer is Luke going to be? The question was a silent scream, a yearning for any change in our circumstances, for any sign of progress or hope.
A low groan escaped my lips, not just from the discomfort but from the realisation that my own moment of need could no longer be ignored. There was no time for a tent stop, no room for hesitation. The urgency of the situation propelled me towards the shovel, a beacon of necessity in this landscape of dust and discomfort. The hope that Paul had also left the roll of toilet paper became a singular focus, a desperate wish to avoid an even more uncomfortable predicament. Or I'm going to be the one stinking of shit.
As I made my way, the reality of our existence in Clivilius hit me anew. We were far from the conveniences and comforts of our previous lives, forced to confront basic needs in a setting that offered little solace or privacy. The juxtaposition of Paul seeking a moment of refreshment in the river against my own pressing need was a stark reminder of the primal challenges we faced, of the need to adapt and find dignity in the midst of our trials.
Perched atop the boulder, the discomfort from the ill-advised cappuccino manifested with a vengeance. "Bloody cappuccino," I grumbled to myself, clutching my stomach as it protested loudly, a reminder of the beverage's treachery. The sudden flash of light was jarring against the backdrop of Clivilius' dusty landscape, a stark anomaly that sent my heart racing with both curiosity and apprehension. "What the fuck was that?" I whispered under my breath, instinctively bracing for the unknown.
In a moment of self-preservation, I crouched, adjusting my position to mitigate the blinding glare. It was then I spotted the source of my momentary alarm—the shovel, innocuously lying in the dust, its metal surface reflecting the sun's rays with an intensity that had caught me off guard.
Approaching the shovel, I moved with a deliberate caution that felt almost second nature now. My gaze darted around the landscape, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of danger that might lurk in the serene yet deceptive tranquility of Clivilius. Yet, the only thing that met my eyes was the familiar, unchanging expanse of dust and rock.
Finally reaching the shovel, my alertness was rewarded by the sight of the toilet paper roll, ingeniously secured under a small rock—a simple yet effective measure against the whims of the wind. A wave of relief washed over me, not just for the presence of the toilet paper, a small yet significant comfort in our current circumstances, but also for the absence of any immediate threat.
As I navigated the makeshift latrine Paul had established, the reality of our situation in Clivilius became painfully clear. The act, as primal and necessary as it was, brought a moment of relief amidst the discomfort. The breeze that momentarily offered a reprieve from the heat also carried a reminder of our primitive conditions, underscoring the challenges we faced in maintaining even a semblance of sanitation.
The realisation that our efforts to dig a latrine would do little to mitigate the inevitable odours was disheartening. It underscored the makeshift nature of our survival tactics and the harsh reality that, despite our best efforts, we were far from the comforts and conveniences of home. The thought was sobering, a stark reminder of how quickly our situation could devolve into something even more dire if we weren't careful.
Covering my business with dust was a temporary measure, one that felt wholly inadequate even as I did it. The notion of collecting our waste in garbage bags for Luke to transport back to Earth was both revolting and bizarrely amusing. It was a plan born of desperation, of a determination to preserve the integrity of Clivilius while grappling with the more unpleasant aspects of human existence.
The irony of the situation was not lost on me. In our quest to maintain some level of cleanliness in this new world, we were reduced to measures that seemed both extreme and slightly absurd. Yet, there was a certain practicality to the idea, a way to ensure that Clivilius remained untarnished by our presence as much as possible.
As I stood up, dusting off my hands and preparing to return to camp, I couldn't help but reflect on the myriad ways in which our ordeal in Clivilius might reshape my understanding of necessity, of survival. The measures I would be willing to take, the compromises I might be forced to make, in order to adapt in the face of adversity.
Yet, the plan to have Luke ferry our waste back to Earth was a stark reminder of the delicate balance we needed to maintain—not just with the environment of Clivilius, but with our own dignity and sense of humanity. It was a balance that would require constant negotiation, a perpetual reassessment of what was necessary, what was bearable, and what it truly meant to survive in a world so unlike our own.
