When the red-haired simp, Marcus—Scarves, Julian figured, because what kind of dipshit wore scarves?—asked him if he’d been alone, Julian nodded.
“Yeah.” Of course he’d been alone. The only thing worse than being forced to spend time outside was being forced to spend it with family. None of it, not listening to his sister whine, his parents nag, or his grandparents ramble, was enjoyable, so of course he’d headed out alone. Inviting one of them along was unthinkable, though that choice had clearly come back to bite him in the ass. Despite all the whining, nagging, and rambling he might’ve had to put up with, being stuck with a family member
was more reassuring than being stuck with this lot of randoms, but fuck it it was what it was.
The conclusion Scarves came to was so strange that Julian had to wonder whether the dude’s head was screwed on right. Talking with people was what got them stuck in the forest? Besides the obvious fact that both he and Julian had been alone—which he’d admitted himself, for fuck’s sake—there was the fact that people talked to each other every day without getting stuck in crazy-colored forests. The more obvious answer would be that Marcus was trying too hard to connect dots that had nothing to do with each other, and that forests had something to do with it. Brenton and Venassa dude had been camping, and Julian had literally been walking through a forest. Most obviously and importantly, they were currently
in a fucking forest, so why hadn’t that been the go-to connection?
The question of why, then, was the issue. Since Julian was pretty sure no one in their right mind would want to kidnap a borderline anemic kid, he had no idea why he’d been taken. Transporting him without killing him on the road was impressive, but dumping him in the forest? Shooting him on arrival would’ve been more helpful for both of them. At least then he’d get to skip the suffering and starving and the plants would get their fertilizer faster.
A yowl cut through Julian’s thoughts, and he flinched back in time to see something darting through the forest. A cat? Punk rock fantasy, or Aubrey, seemed to think so, though the weird Wonderland reference got her a squint from Julian. She didn’t strike Julian as a book snob, but if she was going to keep making allusions to classics, he’d have to put her down as one.
The group dissolved into dumb theories for a minute, during which Julian tuned out. Instead, his attention went to the forest, which was colorful and strange, its branches flowing into each other like something out of a fantasy game. As far as he knew—and that wasn’t far, but still—trees tended to grow up, not to the side, but here, trees reached in all sorts of directions besides up. Some favored the left or the right, some chose both but still refused the obvious compromise, and some stretched towards nothing at all, letting their curved branches hover ominously overhead.
What stood out more, though, were the flowers. Vivid reds and borderline-neon blues popped in nooks and crannies, and smatterings of golden hues helped bridge the gap and pad the glow of surrealism. But the colors weren’t what bothered Julian; it was the realization that he hadn’t sneezed since waking up. He had thought about sneezing, had had the urge to sneeze, but he always did when he looked at flowers. The more important thing was that he
hadn’t sneezed, and that was very, very strange. As someone allergic to every tree and flower on the west coast, including but not limited to style, he was used to the sneezing, itching, and wiping that came with existing, but for some reason he wasn’t feeling particularly uncomfortable at the moment. It was the lack of discomfort, then—the ability to breathe smoothly, to be unbothered for minutes at a time—that unsettled him, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.
A cry cut through the air, and the group rushed to it, Julian included. The sight that awaited them, however, had him recoil: A boy struggled in the mud of a riverbank, two alien-like creatures grasping at him among the bones. While his brain tried to process the sight, his eyes had a mind of their own, flicking from teeth, to claws, to bones, then back in some delayed circle of confusion and disbelief. His eyes were seeing goblins, but his head was telling him it wasn’t so, that there was no way he was seeing goblins because goblins didn’t exist. This wasn’t some D&D campaign, wasn’t some fantasy game on a screen, so there was no way he was seeing what he was seeing.
So he stood, watching the other kids surge forwards from his place at the edge of the forest, his own body frozen in fear. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Charge in and act like a hero? If there was one thing that Julian was sure to his core about—surer than he’d ever been, than he ever would be—it was that he was no hero.
That said, Julian could be stupid. He’d gladly admit to idiocy now and again, and when he saw the boy shift into a horse and grab onto Pink with his horsey molars, the multiple disconnects in his brain sparked into one, singularly stupid idea.
“Hey, shitweed! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” he shouted down the bank, his eyes meeting the horse’s with a challenge. And, in the split second it took for the horse to process his words, his own brain finished processing the shitty rehashed movie line he’d just uttered, and the bones in his legs pretty much melted where he stood.
Yeah, he was fucked.
