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It was a strange thing. It looked humanoid in shape and size. It didn’t sound intelligent, but then again, neither did I, I suppose. I can’t believe I truly scared a creature like that. It was obviously larger, faster, stronger, and more dangerous than I am. Maybe I startled it. Who fucking knows.
There’s nothing to do but to try to mend the wall and hope that nothing comes through it the other way. So much of what I’m trying to do here feels like a waste of time. I’m living on limited freeze-dried rations, and the hope of some impossible rescue that would probably turn out to be a bloodbath that I would be on the wrong side of.
The cabin comes with self-mending patches. You put them on the wall and they sort of spread out and make a wall where a wall is supposed to be. Within seconds there’s no more hole, but I don’t feel any better about that. I can’t get the creature out of my head. There was something in his eyes that I can’t stop playing over and over in my mind. Why was he watching me? Was he about to hurt me?
I should feel utterly violated, but instead I feel like an interloper. I don’t belong on this planet, not really. Whatever came to look me over does.
My sleep is over for the night, that much is certain.
The survival manuals better have something to say on the topic of fortifying these cabins, because this thing has proved to be about as secure as a box of tissues.
I start reading.
Fortifications:
In the event of hostile incursions, erect the secondary defenses. The Survivorbox contains several flamethrowers that can be deployed to incinerate the unwelcome visitor. To deploy the flamethrowers, use the controller and input the following keys: E1, Q2, E1, Q2, Left, Down, Right, Up, Left, Down, Right, Up.
Seems simple enough.
I have a little play with the controls. I should know how to use these in case of a more aggressive intruder bursting through the fucking walls. The controller that the Survivorbox comes with is supposed to be wielded with a two-hand grip. It’s not the easiest or most intuitive piece of design, somewhat anachronistic. I am sure ancient humans would have found this quite natural, but to me, pressing actual buttons feels strange and unnatural.
“There!” I say, quite pleased with myself as I finally manage to input the sequence. I can hear a sort of blasting sound on the exterior, which I am taking to mean that the flamethrowers have been deployed. Now, how to stop them…
Seriously. How to stop them.
Fucking hell. Have I actually just done something this dumb? No. Surely not. It must have been Bilbo. I have no idea how this is his fault, but if you can’t blame your emotional support goat for turning your home into a giant flamethrower, then I don’t even know what they’re for.
It is at this moment that Survivorbox chimes in with a confirmation of my idiocy.
Excuse me, Penelomehh, I appear to be on fire. Please take whatever you can carry and get out before I collapse in on myself in a ball of flames.
This is the problem with stupid things. You do them before you realize how stupid they are. And then you’ve just sort of done them and you’re stuck with your dumbness and hoping that nobody else ever finds out about it because if they did they’d make snide comments about you being too stupid to live, and then probably go on to choke on absolutely nothing, or stub their toe on a wall that was always there. Basically, what flashes through my mind right now is that I was stupid, and so is everybody else.
Evacuate! Survivorbox reminds me.
I grab everything I can as fast as I can. A few crates of food, some other random boxes the contents of which I don’t actually know.
Farewell to Survivoorrrberkkkxxss…
My shelter against these alien elements drawls into fiery oblivion before my eyes.
I am outside, but I am not safe. The flames have reached the ample undergrowth around the shelter, and these plants are flammable as all hell, so I discover. My shelter has turned the forest into a blazing inferno. Trying to run through it is almost impossible, but I have to try. I stumble and run, abandoning every single one of my possessions, screaming for Bilbo, and choking as a result.
The smoke is thick. Too thick.
It is being sucked into my lungs no matter how much I try to avoid it. There is no escaping the racing heat and the choking…
CHAPTER 2
Penelope
I should have died then. It might have been merciful.
“Time to eat, pet,” my master growls. Orgasmic liquids coat the inside of my thighs. I have performed for him as he wanted me to perform. I have given him what he wanted me to give. My writhing, screaming, desperate pleasure, which always ignites when he enters me, no matter the part of his body, or the hole of mine.
