Tweet
This is a really interesting board. I've never created a new thread with my first post before but I thought I'd try my hand at creating a civ themed story. I always have been a builder.
Alex Drove a Dumptruck
One
It was beautifully hot outside. The truck didn't have air conditioning so Alex wore a rag around his head. The greasy makeshift headband had drawn some attention. One person told him he looked like Rambo, another Bruce Lee, and still a third Jimi. Alex drove his dumptruck on a Friday in July, two hours before quitting time.
Though technically emancipated, Alex was a worker in this land, enslaved by debt.
Maybe he was exhausted or maybe just hot but he gradually began to lose his sh!t. It started with vertigo. He thought about parking, even radioing his foreman. His depth perception failed and everything became two dimensional. Things that were normal shades began to sparkle in puple and pink. Buildings temporarily vanished. He watched a crew alongside the road sort of disappear. Their skin seemed to draw back and tighten until the bones of their faces were exposed and their clothes seemed empty. Alex tried to park his truck but couldn't. As horrific as the world's mutations were he felt elated. His euphoria grew as the hallucination swirled around him.
Two
He awoke in his dumptruck, the smooth sandalwood steering wheel under his hands. The world, which once was entirely fashioned by man, was green and vacant. There were no roads, buildings, people, and, most importantly, nothing unusual.
He didn't remember turning the truck off. He fired it back up. An eruption of screams made him bounce his head off the ceiling of the cab. Frantically he looked around and checked his mirrors. What he saw was even more terrifying than the screaming he had just heard.
Little people dressed in rags raced about behind the truck. He heard a thumping sound and loud chatter. Now one of the people circled around to the front of the truck. Alex locked eyes with the little person. He was holding a spear and looked terrified. The little person jumped up and down, pointing and yelling. Alex waited for this very weird trip to pass. It didn't and instead the people ventured closer and closer to his truck.
Alex blew the horn and, in spite of his confusion and terror, laughed as the people turned around and ran away. They stopped at what they must have thought was a safe distance and resumed their hostile gestures in a wide ring around the truck.
Alex opened the door. This silenced the people. He hopped to the ground and waved at them. Then he noticed what must have been the source of the thumping sound he had heard. Three spears lay near the truck. He picked one up. The tip was destroyed. The paint on his box was chipped.
Where the hell am I?
Three
With a load of corn on his dumptruck Alex started the day. He rumbled off down the road, away from the farm, towards the jobsite. This was always the first thing he did each day. At night he would park his truck at this farm and in the morning it would be full of food that had been carted in from surounding farms for him to haul to the site. After delivering the food to the camp he would go after a stone.
The farm was only about eight miles from the camp. The quarry was 50 miles from the site. One of the many strange things Alex had experienced lately was the perpetual readiness of his truck. Despite traveling at least 160 miles a day it was always full of fuel and fluids.
He dumped the food at the camp and turned towards the quarry. While on the road he marvelled at the events of the last month. Meeting the peoples' leader, being given a wife, being deified, and even adapting the fur clothing of the people.
Alex turned the truck around and backed towards the ramp. The people built a ramp to slide the stones directly into the back of the truck. He stopped when he hit the top of the ramp. They removed his tailgate. After a long process of cooperation between the people and the truck, involving many rearrangements of rope and people, the stone was in and they replaced the tailgate. Alex headed back to the site.
He backed up until his spotter gave him the signal. The people took off his tailgate again and he raised the box. With guidance the stone slid from the box into a hole in the ground. Alex raised the box all the way up and waited. The people back filled the hole and anchored the stone with rope. Alex backed up slowly until the spotter indicated that the stone was upright. He waited until it was secured in place and then rumbled back to the farm with Stonehenge taking shape behind him.
Far from debt, overtime, and the immensity of future civilization, Alex had never been happier.
Alex Drove a Dumptruck
One
It was beautifully hot outside. The truck didn't have air conditioning so Alex wore a rag around his head. The greasy makeshift headband had drawn some attention. One person told him he looked like Rambo, another Bruce Lee, and still a third Jimi. Alex drove his dumptruck on a Friday in July, two hours before quitting time.
Though technically emancipated, Alex was a worker in this land, enslaved by debt.
Maybe he was exhausted or maybe just hot but he gradually began to lose his sh!t. It started with vertigo. He thought about parking, even radioing his foreman. His depth perception failed and everything became two dimensional. Things that were normal shades began to sparkle in puple and pink. Buildings temporarily vanished. He watched a crew alongside the road sort of disappear. Their skin seemed to draw back and tighten until the bones of their faces were exposed and their clothes seemed empty. Alex tried to park his truck but couldn't. As horrific as the world's mutations were he felt elated. His euphoria grew as the hallucination swirled around him.
Two
He awoke in his dumptruck, the smooth sandalwood steering wheel under his hands. The world, which once was entirely fashioned by man, was green and vacant. There were no roads, buildings, people, and, most importantly, nothing unusual.
He didn't remember turning the truck off. He fired it back up. An eruption of screams made him bounce his head off the ceiling of the cab. Frantically he looked around and checked his mirrors. What he saw was even more terrifying than the screaming he had just heard.
Little people dressed in rags raced about behind the truck. He heard a thumping sound and loud chatter. Now one of the people circled around to the front of the truck. Alex locked eyes with the little person. He was holding a spear and looked terrified. The little person jumped up and down, pointing and yelling. Alex waited for this very weird trip to pass. It didn't and instead the people ventured closer and closer to his truck.
Alex blew the horn and, in spite of his confusion and terror, laughed as the people turned around and ran away. They stopped at what they must have thought was a safe distance and resumed their hostile gestures in a wide ring around the truck.
Alex opened the door. This silenced the people. He hopped to the ground and waved at them. Then he noticed what must have been the source of the thumping sound he had heard. Three spears lay near the truck. He picked one up. The tip was destroyed. The paint on his box was chipped.
Where the hell am I?
Three
With a load of corn on his dumptruck Alex started the day. He rumbled off down the road, away from the farm, towards the jobsite. This was always the first thing he did each day. At night he would park his truck at this farm and in the morning it would be full of food that had been carted in from surounding farms for him to haul to the site. After delivering the food to the camp he would go after a stone.
The farm was only about eight miles from the camp. The quarry was 50 miles from the site. One of the many strange things Alex had experienced lately was the perpetual readiness of his truck. Despite traveling at least 160 miles a day it was always full of fuel and fluids.
He dumped the food at the camp and turned towards the quarry. While on the road he marvelled at the events of the last month. Meeting the peoples' leader, being given a wife, being deified, and even adapting the fur clothing of the people.
Alex turned the truck around and backed towards the ramp. The people built a ramp to slide the stones directly into the back of the truck. He stopped when he hit the top of the ramp. They removed his tailgate. After a long process of cooperation between the people and the truck, involving many rearrangements of rope and people, the stone was in and they replaced the tailgate. Alex headed back to the site.
He backed up until his spotter gave him the signal. The people took off his tailgate again and he raised the box. With guidance the stone slid from the box into a hole in the ground. Alex raised the box all the way up and waited. The people back filled the hole and anchored the stone with rope. Alex backed up slowly until the spotter indicated that the stone was upright. He waited until it was secured in place and then rumbled back to the farm with Stonehenge taking shape behind him.
Far from debt, overtime, and the immensity of future civilization, Alex had never been happier.
Comment