This is the third chapter.

“So that’s when you fell from the sky, right?” asks Tusken, struggling to keep up with his newfound guest’s back-story.

“Yes. The next thing I know, I’m being jolted awake on a fishing boat in the middle of the ocean,” continues Tavern.

The two scruffy individuals are silent for a moment as they drink coffee in Tusken’s kitchen. Tavern sits with a blanket draped around himself while Tusken refills his pipe.

“You know what?” Tusken chimes, “I’ll take you through the desert into the city. You should be able to find a job or something there. Start a new life!”

“No! I must return to the sky! I have a family! And my kids! They are so little. I must return to them, and defeat the evil that has overtaken the community,” shouts Tavern.

“Fine. But I still should bring you to the city. Maybe you can find some sort of transport or someone who can help you,” replies Tusken.

In the afternoon, the two ride to the city within the sand, Oasis, on sandchoppers (basically a very wide, bulky, and all-range desert Harley with spikes adorning each side). They speed through the dunes at breakneck speeds, blissfully unaware that they are being tailed. The bandit doesn’t make a single sound as it leaps from its buggy onto Tusken’s sandchopper. His bike spins out of control as he combats his sudden assailant with a crowbar. The bandit counters the clubbing with slashes from his very own machete. The two continue fighting each other as the bike skids at hundreds of miles per hour across the desert wasteland. They become so focused on hacking away at each other that they do not notice the rocks they are approaching at a rapid pace. The bike slams into a boulder, catapulting the two directly into the face of the rock. Tavern notices this, and zooms over to the scene. He takes Tusken’s crowbar and thrusts it through the bandit’s eye-socket, impaling it into the rock. As Tusken opens his eyes, lying against the rock, he notices the second bandit buggy to accelerate toward them. He stands, walks over to the kabob of a bandit next to him, and steals his machete. Tavern retrieves the crowbar, and the two armed men turn slowly toward the increasing buggy noise. They look at each other nervously and understand each other’s facial expressions. The buggy roars toward them and advances closer. Just before it hits them, the two spin around and leap backwards into the windshield of the buggy, shattering glass everywhere. Tavern lands in the passenger seat and Tusken is launched into the driver’s seat, decapitating the bandit driver with a machete in midair. The two heroes drive the buggy back to their sandchoppers and finish the journey to Oasis.

Outside the gates, Tusken spies a bandit jeep and fashions a make-shift Molotov cocktail. He steals a bottle of rum from a vagabond and grabs a piece of cloth out of a dumpster. Using his own matches, he ignites the cloth and shoves it in the neck of the bottle. Without any hesitation, he casually tosses it onto the hood of the buggy, torching the vehicle. As Tusken proceeds coolly into the city, Tavern is already ahead inquiring about possible modes of transport. The inside of the city is filled with dense jungles and beautiful waterfalls. It is truly an “oasis” within the desert, complete with fresh water and vibrant plant life. An annoyed civilian passes by Tavern and suggests the bar, explaining how all sorts of people can be found in such a place. As Tusken catches up, hands in pockets with his pipe resting between his teeth, Tavern begins to briskly walk toward the bar.

The two enter the establishment, look around the main room, and realize they are covered in dirt and blood. They notice because they seem to fit in with the rest of the crowd, an achievement they are not usually able to obtain. The place is filled to the brim with unique characters, each visually diverse from each other with assumed legendary back-stories. After a few drinks, Tusken and Tavern begin to socialize and look for transportation. Finally after an hour they meet a stranger and the men are told of a man who has a very easy and very low-key method of illegal transportation. They are pointed in the direction of the corner of the room, a booth filled with a man, his many enthusiastic dates, and his own swagger.

“I hear he is called ‘Toast,’” reveals the stranger. “And I hear he raises flying horses.”

This is the second chapter.

The fisherman awoke at daybreak. He prepared a delightful breakfast of sunny side up eggs and bacon with a glass of orange juice. The sunrise sang of a beautiful new day with a vibrant voice that lit up the ocean-filled horizon. Tusken smiled to himself as he appreciated the beauty of mother nature. He stared out for a few more minutes, digesting his breakfast, then lit up his corn cob pipe and took a deep drag. Sun seems a little brighter today, Tusken the fisherman thought to himself as he leaned against the back of his shack and exhaled a thick white smoke into the sea breeze. Slowly but surely the world began to make sense to him again as he broke his flirtation with the orange horizon. “I’ve got some work to do.”

He made his way down the green hill behind his shack overlooking the sea and boarded his fishing boat. He tuned the radio to his favorite station and started the engine as he tapped his foot to Johnny Cash. The motor and the music were the only things breaking the silence of the calm waters. Tusken reached into a toolbox and obtained the pair of welding goggles he used when building his own abode. He would wear these every so often, generally on those mornings when the sun was especially bright. A few more kisses with his pipe followed by the locomotive of smoke escaping from his mouth into the oblivion of the wind rushing by. He slowed down the boat and proceeded to cut the engine.

Tusken did not believe in God, nor did he care to spend his time anticipating an afterlife. He was content fishing every day for a steady income and a simple occupation. It was easy to maintain and it allowed for a sense of control. Having no interests in surrendering his fate over to a higher power, Tusken took pride in have such mastery over his path in life. His desire to live was kept alive by witnessing majestic displays of beauty, such as his daily sunrise showcases. Tusken had a very interesting outlook on life. It was an outlook that was not shared by most of his fellow Earth-dwellers. He would frequently fill his mind with philosophy on these morning fishing outings. As the fisherman pondered existentialism, he cast his line off into the sky and watched it sail through the air until it landed in the water.

The fishhook is such a fascinating character. As it sails through the air, it believes it is having overwhelming amounts of fun and it feels on top of the world. It has no need for external forces to tell it what to do. It chooses not to be dictated by others. The object’s is inanimate, therefore having no concept of fear and so it does not have to worry about misplacing its faith. But even as it rejoices in its independence as it sails through the air, it eventually hits water. As soon as it finds its place to settle down, it accidentally begins a secret job. It is unaware that as soon as a fish bites it, its task is complete and it has successfully been used by an external force much more powerful and knowing than it can comprehend. Perhaps it should break with reason and begin to feel a sense of self-worth, as though its lifelong purpose has been fulfilled. How on earth can Tusken relate this to the lives and the beliefs of humans? As he quizzed himself, he glanced down at his pipe and suspiciously raised an eyebrow.

Tusken once again admired the sun as it rose slowly above the sea. The colors that were being reflected on the surface of the water were beautiful and awe-inspiring. The moving waves refracted the light into all new colors and it became hydro-laser light show for the song on his radio. He looked up at the sky again, blowing circles of smoke into his view and turning the sun into a bulls-eye. What a beautiful morning. Unfortunately, Tusken’s breathtaking canvas of a view was briefly interrupted by a screaming man falling from the sky and crashing into the still waters next to his boat.

Tusken looked down at the newly formed bubbles and whitewash where just milliseconds ago a very loud man collided with very quiet water. He looked up again at the sun, took a long drag from his pipe, then returned his gaze the sea where he expected a certain loud man should have come up for air by then. Tusken dumped the ashes out of his pipe and kicked off his boots. He had finally caught up with the present.

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Tusken dives into the water, barreling into the abyss to try and rescue the sinking man. He must retrieve the man before all of their splashing disrupts something underneath the surface. He grabs hold of the limp body’s wrist and drags him upward toward oxygen. After dumping the man onto his boat, Tusken notices a strange rumbling sound. The water surrounding him and his vessel began to swell and rock, revealing the presence of a living creature. The diamond head of an enormous sea serpent rockets out of the deep, hissing at the relatively tiny fisherman. This was certainly not a first for Tusken, who at this time of day is more alert than ever. He grabs hold of his trusty harpoon and leaps onto the flat head of the serpent. As it roars and shakes itself violently, he suddenly slips into the jaws of the enraged sea beast. Tusken, harpoon in teeth, desperately attempts to pry open the mouth that cages him so fiercely. As he pushes the jaws apart, a monstrous fang digs into the skin of his left arm and summons a thin river of blood. His bicep is quickly decorated with streaks of red. He grabs the harpoon in between his own jaws and retaliates against the snake with a sharp thrust into its eye. Half blinded, it screeches and flails nightmarishly. It writhes in agony as Tusken pushes with all of his will and permanently cracks open the snake’s mouth. The exhausted fisherman grasps his harpoon and wrenches it out of the monster as he lazily falls backward out of the jaws and retreats back onto his boat as the song on the radio plays its final chord.

The jolt of Tusken’s body hitting the metal fishing boat wakes the unconscious man. After the man opens his eyes, he sits up and beholds a never-ending wasteland of water. His optics slowly fall to the bloody and scarred fellow to his side, loudly panting and gasping. He observes the wheezing gentleman sit up alongside him, pick up a corn cob pipe resting near his foot on the floor of the boat, and light it. After the battered fisherman stares with great nostalgia at the sun nearing the top of the sky, he exhales and asks the man a question.

“Who on earth are you?” breathes Tusken in exhausted desperation.

“I am Tavern. And I should not be on earth,” replies the dazed man from the sky.