Da Boy on Da Moon

4.92/5 (6)

Rezdek watched in confusion as the ship pulled away from the void-scarred moon. 

“Dey’ll be back, I reckin.” He said to himself, of course there was no atmosphere, so he didn’t make much of a sound at all. Rather sad that. 

Rezdek had been with Bigkilla’s WAAAGH! for, well, how could he have known? Long as he could remember, which wasn’t terribly long but it had never particularly bothered him. 

“’Ad some good times, we did.” He thought he said, but there was nothing but silence. 

No sense mucking about. He had nothing but time now, he thought, he might as well find something to do here. 

Dust kicked up his feet as he bounded along the moon’s surface. Looks like it’s itchy, he thought. 

Orks could survive anywhere, even starved of air. Bit cold for his liking though. The last Kroozer had taken off into the blackness, but not before the meks had dumped the least redeemable scrap metal off the back, which promised Rezdek some momentary entertainment. Inevitably, however, he broke the already broken parts so thoroughly that they were no longer any fun.

Rezdek found amusement – even wonder – at the planet below, but this was short-lived, as was the case with so many things Rezdek observed. He was hungry and needed something to eat: preferably something that would put up a fight. He bounced a lot now.

“Heh, lookit me. I’m a squig.” He said as he bounded in the moon’s low gravity, though there was no one to laugh, not even Kickit the Grot. He’d always liked Kickit. He always made Kickit laugh at his jokes.  

Deep shadows would fall over him for what seemed like forever. Occasionally he would look down and see that the planet looked different, like all the land moved around every few hours. 

“Oh yeah. Dem mekboyz says dats uh… uh…” He couldn’t think of the word. He was relieved to remember that it was supposed to happen though. The word he was looking for was ‘rotation’.

Rezdek kept bouncing. He became excited when he saw the glint of something in the dust. Shiny gubbinz always make life better, he thought. He picked up the shard of glass, and what’s more: boot prints. He just had to keep following the boot prints and he would find someone to scrap with! In the glint of the glass he looked and he recognized himself, at least mostly. He always prided himself on being the meanest looking ork he knew, but what greeted him in the reflection was something slightly foreign. Though he didn’t have the vocabulary for it, he was sallow and gaunt.

“Oi. I ‘ate dis mirror. Make’s me look un-orky.” He tossed it as he followed the footprints. 

The foot prints were a great deal apart. Whoever he was following must have been bouncing too. 

“Makes sense.” Rezdek concluded despite the enforced silence, “Bouncin’s fun even if it ain’t proppa orky.” 

Rezdek never knew how, but he knew every other time he was around orks, more orks would show up eventually. Every planet he’d ever WAAAGH!’d on, they’d get into a scrap and then some time later some more orks would arrive to do more scrapping.

Rezdek missed scrapping. 

“Oi. Dis lad must be a speedy git. I can’t catch ‘im.” Rezdek spoke into the nothingness.  Sometimes he would bounce as fast as he could. Rezdek was tenacious and he’d catch that git in his sleep if he could. That would show him. 

For days and days Rezdek tried to catch the elusive boots. They were going in a straight line, which made sense to Rezdek: that’s how you get as far away as possible.

A shiny glint again! What’s more, was that there were two sets of boot prints going forward. He knew that more orks always turn up eventually! He just had to catch them. He bounced as fast as he could, though he was so tired now, not having anyone to scrap with at all. 

“Wait. Where ‘av I seen dis before?” He said, picking up the glass as he bounced past. It was all so quiet. He missed his voice. He missed noise. Noise was his favorite. That’s why he had Snaps, his favorite noise squig. Sometimes he’d make Kickit jump on top of it. Snaps would make this really funny sound that was like what he’d hear at The Drops after a night of drinking all the Squig Oil Beer. At least he thought it did. He couldn’t really remember. He looked into the glass and saw someone he didn’t recognize.

“Iz dis one a dem ‘umie shout boxes?” He thought, “Why would a grot be pickin’ up a ‘umie shout box? Thievin’ gits. And why’s dis one repeatin’ what I say?” 

Rezdek’s attention was caught by movement on the planet: a flash of light. Explosions so large and so apocalyptic as to be seen from space traced scars across the continent. For a moment the fleshy pod in his body that might roughly be considered a heart raced. 

He was excited by the thought of conflict. He so very much missed fighting. He raised his fists in the air and tried to bellow a WAAAGH! but, of course, nothing. A new emotion washed over Rezdek, one that perhaps had never been experienced by any ork in history, and perhaps would never again: profound sadness.  

He sat down on the powdery white dust and watched the fight happening down below. He watched in terrible envy as continents cracked and the core of the planet itself was laid bare. The glass – discarded by his side and already forgotten – cast a lonely reflection of the emaciated ork. 

He looked down upon a world he would never get to know. They looked like they were having such a great time without him. 

Final words stirred no air: “Dey left me.”

About the Author
Thom Sullivan is a wargamer, painter, and 3d printing enthusiast. He is also intensely private.