48 Hour Short Story Contest

Rusta’s worthy object

Deep into the Malutian jungles and miles beyond the sapphire ocean, there lies the dreaded, mighty village of Burumbanja. It is so dreaded, for the most brutal warriors of all time are trained in its forests and the most powerful chieftains lay their stakes in its trees. At this time, the village is governed by the all-supreme Yaweolay who is lecturing his fifteen year old son; readying him for his first rite of passage- a test of manhood.
“Now, my son,” began Sir Yaweolay, his eyes shining with anticipation and excitement. “In this next day, you will be sent out to the jungles. You will have nothing, no food or water, but only a spear. With that, your task is to bring back an object…any object of worth.” Rusta stood with his father in the shade of the Ravinala tree, watching as Sir Yaweolay jumped around with wild animation and gestures; trying with all his strength to excite his son as much as he himself was. Rusta was almost as tall as his father now; barely having to slant his head to look into Sir Yaweolay’s dancing eyes. Rusta had heard this story a hundred times; he could recite it in his mind while doing his best to appear interested. Truth be told, he was interested more than even he knew himself. Since the first time Yaweolay had ever recited the story, a fire had burned in his spirit. Rusta wanted to prove that he could be a good chief. He was determined to bring back the worthiest object in the history of Burumbanja.
“When I was your age, I also went on my first rite of passage. As I was walking by, I saw a lion stalking a deer. Now, I could have gone for either animal, but son, never settle for second best. Two days later I returned with a lion skin on my shoulder. When I was declared chieftain, the lion emblem was painted on all the shields and flags. So will it be when you, my son, bring back a worthy object. The sun has set. Good night and good luck.” Sir Yaweolay waved a solemn goodbye and set off into the night.
The setting sun was streaking rays of color miles across the sky, reducing two figures to solid black silhouettes. The taller figure moved away slowly in a dignified manner. Meanwhile the shorter figure stood still for a time, staring into the distance. The sun set completely and he walked into the jungles, dissolving into the blackness surrounding him.

*****

It was evident to Rusta, even after two days of wandering in the jungle that he wasn’t getting very far and probably wouldn’t bring back the most worthy object. Let alone an object at all. Rusta reclined hopelessly on a discarded anthill. He never remembered being this hungry before, even when the village had been in drought. Rusta could never catch anything for many reasons now. One, he was too weak to move and the rumbling of his vacant stomach would give away his presence to even the dumbest dodo. More importantly, though, Rusta couldn’t hunt to save his life, even though he was the son of a revered chief.
The next morning as Rusta woke up; he knew that if he didn’t find any water soon, he would die. With all the strength he could coax from his useless legs, Rusta hoisted himself onto his feet and set out again in search of water. Around noon, when the sun grew merciless on Rusta’s neck, he thought he could hear something. Something…alive. Desperately, Rusta followed the substance his ears could hear but his mind could not comprehend. As he crawled on and on, something bit and blue beckoned him out of the corner of his eye. Water! In wild relief, Rusta flung himself forward and plunged headfirst into the rushing stream. The cold stabbed his arms and legs as the ice water made contact with his body, but Rusta didn’t care; he was alive again.
As it turns out, Rusta had found Lake Astrough, the biggest lake in the country. It is said that Lake Astrough has special properties that no scholar or scientist could lay their hands on. Essentially, anyone who drank from the Lake found success in whatever they were doing – whichever mission they embarked on. Lake Astrough is a beautiful lake, fed from a huge tall waterfall. Luscious trees and reeds surround it; not even a pessimist could find any deflect in its cool clear waters. Long after Rusta had slacked his thirst, he wandered over to a soft looking tuft of grass and lay on it. Besides his gnawing hunger, things were looking up for him. Rusta could enjoy the sunshine for one more day.
Suddenly, an unnatural sound reached Rusta’s attention – a sound he had never heard before. Startled, he leapt to his feet and plunged into the cover of some bushes. Trying his hardest not to breathe too loudly, Rusta peered through its leaves to see the unnamed monster. The creature was legendary, it moved on two feet, but the foot moved in never-ending circles. Its body was very thin – perhaps the width of Rusta’s wrists. Its skin was shiny and colorful, so shiny that it reflected in the sun. The creature had no eyes or face, but it had arms, two skinny arms extending on either side of itself with round black hands. Controlling the monster was a white man with a sports cap and a handle bar moustache. Rusta watched with fascination as the man unscrewed the blue cap off a water bottle in his hand and tipped his head back, draining the last drops out.
“That is a worthy object.” thought Rusta. A plan formed in his mind.

*****

Edwin was an American man in his early thirties. Ever since he was a young boy, it had been his dream to compete in a cross country biking race and win a medal. Now, as he tramped throughout the jungle in his biking shorts and black socks, he though he had lost it all. Edwin failed himself. He should have never listened to the biker who said he knew a shortcut through the woods; he should have never left the trail to walk through this marsh. Frustrated, Edwin ran his hands through his brown hair and drained his water bottle. He might as well die in the forest.
Sadly, Edwin dismounted his bike and walked on through the jungle. To his delight, he saw a waterfall straight ahead. He would have made it to the water, set camp for the night and died in the forest if it hadn’t been for a young boy jumping out of the bushes; a young boy who knocked him to the ground, aimed a heavy punch and sent Edwin out of consciousness to darkness.
Twenty minutes later, Edwin woke up with a painful headache and a black eye. The same boy was leaning over him, splashing his face with cold water and curiously touching his clothes. Trying his hardest not to start a fight, Edwin tried to sound unthreatening and weak. “Please, please don’t kill me. I don’t want to hurt you; I only want to go home.” The boy looked as though he understood. Edwin was pleased. “If you show me the way out, I’ll leave you and never come back.”
Rusta stood up to his full height and looked down at the man. “What’s your name?” he demanded, slanting his eyes.
“Edwin” responded the man eagerly.
“Where are you from?”
“America.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m on a bike race. That is my bike over there. See the Schwinn bicycle?”
In that manner, a conversation struck up. Eventually, it became friendlier as the men realized that they weren’t out to hurt each other. That evening the men set up camp together by Lake Astrough. Edwin was as relieved to see fresh water as Rusta was when he saw that the stranger had food. Even though it was strange and obscure, it still tasted very good. After all, it was food. As Rusta and Edwin drank and ate, their conversation continued.
“What’s that?” asked Rusta indicating to the bottle.
“Oh, that’s a bottle. You put water in it and it holds it all together, see?”
“Yes, I see. And that blue lid keeps it from falling out?”
“Right.” Edwin couldn’t understand Rusta’s sudden interest in the bottle cap but answered his questions anyway. Rusta spent the rest of the night asking Edwin about all his belongings and how they worked. Until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, Edwin answered his perpetual inquiries unceasingly.
Rusta stayed awake long after Edwin had gone to sleep. The day had been good to him. He’d found food and water, made a friend, but most importantly, he’d found his object. Edwin didn’t know it, but through the night, Rusta had been examining each and every one of his objects, screening them to pick out the most worthy objects he could find. Earlier that day, it had been his intention to return the white man as a prisoner to the village – but he couldn’t do that after Edwin had given him food and saved his life. Now, with a huge smile on his face, Rusta had found the perfect objects and had secured his position as chief of the village, he was sure of it.

*****

At the crack of dawn, Edwin woke up with Rusta slapping his cheeks.
“Wake up! Wake up!” he yelled. “I will take you out of the jungle.” Rusta announced, and without further ado, he began packing up all of Edwin’s things and securing them to his bike. In two minutes flat, all of Edwin’s belongings were hoisted on the bike and strapped to the back.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” prompted Rusta, smiling profusely. What’s up? thought Edwin, but he remained silent. Grumpily, he got up and mounted his bike. Rusta was already running ahead of him, through the trees and bushes. Thanks to Rusta’s fast running and insistent prompting, both people had made it out of the jungle in less than two hours. Edwin couldn’t believe it.
“H…How did you??” Edwin couldn’t get his words out straight as he found himself out of the forest and smack on the trail again.
“Once my father led me here, he said it was a path for shining monsters, a place I should never go. When you described your race, I knew it was this.” Rusta said, a smile lighting his face. “Are you ready to go?”
If Edwin had been a girl, he would have been crying. “Thank you so much! I can’t express my gratitude enough. Before I go, is there anything I can do for you?” Rusta’s heart leapt. This was the question he’d been waiting for.
“Actually, there is.” he responded, his heart racing. “May I please have your blue bottle cap and black sock?” Edwin smiled.
“Here” he said, removing his sock and unscrewing his bottle. “Anything. You saved my life.” Edwin set off on his bike and Rusta watched him go. He laughed as Edwin rounded the corner and waved a final goodbye. Rusta looked down on the objects in his hand. After securing them tightly in his clothes, he ran all the way home.

*****

Sir Yaweolay had been waiting for his on to come home for a long time. He couldn’t dismiss the thought that maybe he had died or been eaten by a wild animal. Sir Yaweolay loved his son too much to let him go just like that. As a good father, he refused to eat, drink or sleep until his son had come home alive. Sadly, hopefully, Sir Yaweolay lifted his eyes to the hills once last time. He caught sight of a small black dot running down towards him. Could it be Rusta? Excitement churned in his stomach as he ran, no, sprinted to his son. Tears stained his eyes as he lifted his son to his shoulders. You would be happy too, if you hadn’t eaten for two days straight. Sir Yaweolay carried his son home on his shoulders. As was tradition, Rusta was set in the house and fed and fed and fed. Sir Yaweolay enjoyed good food too. On the couch together, both men spoke about the journey and the shining monster and the worthy objects that Rusta had brought home.
That night, there was a huge banquet. After the main meal, Rusta displayed his objects to the town council who took them in for examination. Everyone held their breath as the judges looked at them, searching for any flaw or defect in the worthy objects. Slowly, the chief elder held out his hand. If his palm pointed up, Rusta would be chief, if the palm pointed down, Rusta would be exiled. Rusta’s life was balanced on the flip of the chief’s hand. Not a sound was heard in the camp as the chief stuck out his hand. The palm pointed up.
The following day, new shields and flags were being created. As new chief, Rusta monitored the construction, but to him it was the greatest thrill to give instructions on how to paint the emblem. Everyone gathered around the flagpole and solemnly sang the village’s anthem as a new flag was raised, a flag bearing the emblem of the world famous “Black sock and Blue cap.”
For many years, Rusta ruled the village. Everyone was honored to be in his village, they were the envy of nations. Rusta married, had kids and lived happily ever after – and somewhere on the other side of the world, Edwin polished his first place trophy of the race he had won many years ago.


Word count: 2,303