Jim

Jim sighs yet again as the toadstool he's sitting on begins swaying in the breeze, threatening to set off his motion sickness one more time. He'd been sitting there, high up in the sky on probably the worlds tallest toadstool, for an inordinate amount of time it seemed, but the sun didn't seem to move much. Or at all, he thought with a sudden shock of horror that quickly faded as his perch swayed again. For the umpteenth time he closed his eyes and went over what happened in a vain attempt at figuring out this predicament.
         He'd been playing in the back garden with his dog Homer, a mongrel who's parentage was almost impossible to decipher from his appearance. Jim had always enjoyed winding up his furry friend into a playful race, trying to retrieve his beloved knotted rope and always ended it with a vigorous tug of war before conceding to Homer. This time they had played their game and Jim sat in the grass, staring up at the sky as a sun beam cut through a cloud, bathing the whole yard in a warm glow. He smiled as he felt the warming touch on his face and closed his eyes for but a moment. Homer barked suddenly in a way the boy had never heard before, making him jump and open his eyes. And that's it. One minute it's all dogs and sunshine, the next he's sitting on a precariously tall toadstool that he has no clue how to get down from and doesn't recognise the land around him. Quite a lot to take in.
         He sighs once more and decides it's about time he did something, it was clear no one was coming to help. He'd been mulling over a plan for the last few minutes, or hours he couldn't be sure, and now he slowly approached the edge on all fours, digging his fingers into the surface whenever the wind picked up. Looking down he could see the tops of trees forming a modestly sized grove and nothing else, it was all grass as far as the eye could see – and from up there the eye could see a fair amount – with a few lazily rolling hills. The boy tries to swallow past the icy lump forming in his throat and to ignore it's even colder companion in his gut, both telling him to step back. It's now or never he thinks and starts to push over the edge, trying to grasp the underside of the toadstool which he reasoned must have giant sized gills that he could swing from in order to reach the stalk and slide down it like a fireman's pole. His fingers just manage to touch them, with his arm painfully stretched around the lip of the cap, when his entire body begins to slip. Jim squeaks out a surprised noise as the cap disappears beneath him leaving only air and gravity. He flails wildly in the midst of pure panic before his right hand gets purchase on the gills, stopping his fall and yanking his arm violently, making the poor boy yelp again.
         He hangs there and thinks to himself, he tells himself to be calm. It doesn't work but at least he tried. The wind makes an appearance, tilting the cap slightly before swaying back to it's rightful place, giving Jim a much needed jolt of momentum that allows him to get his free hand secured ahead of him. Now that he feels in a better position he begins a slow trudge towards the stalk, holding on tightly whenever a squall tries to dislodge him before resuming.
         Again Jim can't tell how long it took, that sun is still pretty much where it was when he started, but he eventually manages to reach the stalk, only to come across another obstacle. The gills stop about a foot shy so he knows he's going to have to jump, a prospect that turns his legs to jelly. He's just thankful he's not using them right now. He waits, hanging like a Christmas tree ornament, until another gust bends the toadstool. He waits for it to snap back into place and when it does he flings himself with a primal yell of fear and adrenaline. He hits the stalk hard, knocking the wind from his lungs, but manages to wrap his arms and legs around his target, which turns out to be covered in a foul smelling slime that Jim can't stop but inhale deeply as he tries to fill his lungs with air. He clings on for a moment but can feel himself sliding, he tries desperately to get purchase but just keeps slipping faster until he's hurtling down the stem almost as fast as if he'd simply swan dived off the toadstool. Jim looks down to see the tree tops speeding towards him, primal instinct kicks in, his legs roar with pain as they constrict to slow his descent, his hands feel like they're on fire as they follow suit but against all odd he does indeed slow down. He drops through the canopy getting scratched, poked and all-around mistreated by the branches but does not let go, does not loosen his grip even slightly. His eyes are scrunched closed, trying to aid in blocking out the pain, when his backside makes contact with the ground. Again he hangs there for a few moments until he opens his eyes, wiggles his rear to assure himself that, yes, there is solid ground there and lets go. He falls onto the dimly lit soil with a mildly painful thump which makes the boy wince slightly but soon replaces it with a smile before whooping with joy as he lies on his back, arms in the air. The exhaustion, physical and mental, kicks in and Jim closes his eyes, falling into a deep sleep as his arms fall back down to rest on his chest.

         He awakes to a sloppy tongue licking his face and sickly sweet breath blowing up his nose with an almost burning sensation.
         “Gah, what the hell!” he yells, scrabbling backwards from the hairy mass that has appeared. It looks at him with a quizzical expression, big blue tongue lolling out the side of it's needle-tooth filled mouth, before loping forwards.
         “Stay back, I'm warning you. Stay. Back,” Jim shouts, wishing he sounded even slightly intimidating. He pulls himself up to his feet, trying to look as big as possible and feeling like he's failing miserably. The creature walks towards him again, it's six feet making a disarmingly pleasant pitter-patter through the leaf strewn floor. Jim waves his arms, ignoring the burning sensation in his hands as they whisk through the air and tries to scare off the beast but it ignores his efforts, closes in and just as the boy tries to summon the courage to strike the thing it nuzzles up to his waist. Jim stands in shock, arms raised away from the creature's terrifying maw when he realises it's actually quite friendly. He tentatively places a hand on its head, scratching the things ear like Homer used to love so. It leans into the scratch, enjoying the friendly gesture.
         “Heh, like that huh? Wonder if you're a boy or girl?” he says quietly as he sits down and continues to work its ear. Minutes or hours pass as Jim absent-mindedly pets his new friend. Eventually he gets back up, blowing on his hands to ease the pain and looks at his surroundings for the first time. Down here beneath the tree tops the light level was much more to Jim’s liking, he could feel the cool of the shadows and enjoys the puffy breezes that whistle through the grove. No more swaying in the wind. In every direction all he could see were trees and grassy plains beyond, not that he expected anything more after his sky-high reconnaissance, but it didn't really help tell him which way would get him back home.
         “Where'll we go little guy?” he asks his companion. The animal barks in a strange multi-layered sound that feels alien to the young lads ears before it boltsoff at breakneck speed in a random direction.
         “What the-, wait up dammit,” he shouts in shock before running as fast he can after the furry thing. As Jim runs he begins to think of what to name his new found friend, even though he still didn't know whether it was a boy or girl. He shrugged it off, telling himself there's only him here and the six-legged fur ball wasn't going to argue, so he would name it Joe. Yes, that fit perfectly. He catches up with the alien mutt, bending over to rest his hands on his knees as he gets his breath back.
         “Phew, so how about it little guy, can I call you Joe?” he says between gasps. The animal looks at him the moment he uses the name, confirming to young Jim that it really was the perfect moniker.  The lad nods to himself as he pulls back up to full height and takes another look around.
         “Where's this?” he wonders aloud, the landscape looking suspiciously different from the rolling green plains that stretched out as far as the eye could see before his run. Joe bounces around Jim's feet excitedly, almost pushing him onwards through the new terrain but the boy lays a hand on his back, patting gently while looking around, momentarily calming the bundle of jumping fur and feet.
         Around them is a barren terrain of red rocks interspersed with streaks of metallic blue that shine in the ever present sunlight with a brightness that hurt the eyes if looked at directly and made a disconcerting blur in the peripheral vision if attempting to avoid it. A most annoying feature if ever Jim had seen one. Not too far off is a great pillar of red with streaks of the blue that made the whole thing look like a giant's stick of rock candy. Upon that thought Jim can't help laughing as Joe looks on confused.
         “The stick of rock is a stick of rock,” he pipes in answer to his friend before realising exactly how awful a joke it is, “moving on.”
         They walk towards the pillar until its shadow covers them in a welcoming coolness from the ever burning sun. Jim sits propped against the rock, letting out a world weary sigh that no lad his age should be capable of and closes his eyes.
         
         He sees himself when he was ten after Tom, his older brother, had died in a car crash a couple of weeks prior. His parents were arguing again, like they did every day, what it was about was trivial, something the young boy knew even then was just a way to avoid thinking of Tom. He was in the garden with Homer, trying to ignore the increasingly loud voices, when he heard a world shattering smash that he rushed to investigate. When he got to the source of the sound – Homer hot on his heels – his mother was kneeling on the floor, tears in her eyes as she swept up the remains of her porcelain cow collection that until now had stood proudly on the mantle. He looked from his mother to the remains and back again.
         “It's alright Jimmy, don't worry, just an accident. Dad's gone out for a bit, maybe he'll pick up some glue so we can fix this mess. Would you like to help?” she said, eyes drowning in sorrow. Jim nodded silently and began picking up pieces of cow.
         “No, no honey don't worry about that, it was my fault. You can help put them back together, OK?” she said, a tad forcefully. Jim nodded again, walked outside and threw himself down on the ground, staring upwards until Homer jumped on him with the intent to start a brawl.

         His eyes open to be greeted by the grinning visage of Joe who'd plonked himself down in front of Jim, waiting for whatever came next.
         “Y'alright there boy?” he says. The panting pooch pricks up its ears and crawls a couple of slight steps forward until it is within arms reach. A clear indication that all was good but a scratch would make things better.
         “Heh, fair enough,” he says already reaching out a hand full of scratchy fingers. The duo sit in the shade for an age without a sound, Jim staring into the distance from whence he came, pondering his situation and trying to understand how this alien world worked. He feels following Joe was key to getting anywhere but the mechanics of how that is possible elude him. With an accepting shrug only possible from a child he stands up and looks at the dog-thing. As if sensing Jim's intent it jumps around on the spot repeatedly until apparently deciding on a direction and dashes off leaving the boy to catch up.
         As Jim follows he makes a conscious effort to study his surroundings, though not an easy task with it blurring around him in a speedy smudge of cartoon colours. He is sure he pinpoints the moment the landscape changes as the blur goes from its predominantly red look to a cool, pale blue. His attention divided inevitably leads to him crashing into Joe when the mutt stops, sending the poor boy sailing over the animal to land face down in a snow drift. Though muffled by ears full of snow he can hear Joe barking loudly and feels a tugging at his trousers. Jim pools his energy and erupts from the drift, standing triumphantly as the remnants slowly fall back to the ground. Looking around, the land is completely white, no definition, no possible way of orienting oneself.
         “Couldn't we 'ave skipped this one Joe?” he said. The dog is trotting quickly away from him and Jim jogs to keep up, not wanting to be left in such a desolate place. The exertions so far had done nothing to tire him and now that he was moving at a speed the eye could compute his mind wandered.

         It was almost two years since Tom had died. Jim's dad had never returned, only sending a letter that read 'I'm gone, it just ain't happenin' any more. Never take your eye off Jimbo.' His mother had hidden the letter immediately after reading, told Jim all manner of things about where his father was but could never bring herself to once and for all declare that he'd left. Jim listened, nodded at her lies whenever she invented a new excuse for his fathers' absence and left her to her sorrow. He loved his mother, loved both parents but they sure could infuriate him at times with  their constant mollycoddling. True he was young but hadn't he shown time and again that he was mentally mature? Apparently not. His continued annoyance with his mother is what brought him to ransack her bedroom one Saturday morning when she was out doing the weekly food shop and allowed him to discover the aforementioned letter. When she returned he was sat at the bottom of the stairs, holding the letter for her to see as she entered the house.
         “Jimmy! What have you done?” she exclaimed.
         “Whatever it is, ain't as bad as you lyin',” he said with a malice he was unaware of having.
         “Oh honey, you don't understand. It's not lying, I wanted to protect you.”
         “Ma, not once did you say anythin' believable. Come on, you must know I'd figure it out, I ain't stupid.”
         “Alright, you got me. It's all my fault, I'm a horrible person 'cause I couldn't tell my little boy his dad left us. I'm sorry Jimmy, I really am.”
         She dropping bags of food over the floor, fell to her knees and began quietly sobbing into her hands. Jim sat there, letter still in hand, in a state of shock. Again he'd only thought of himself, again he'd reduced his mother to tears over something that had pissed him off. A wave of nausea washed over the boy and he felt compelled to hug her, which she returned with such vigour he thought she was going to break his ribs.
         Since that day Jim had made a concerted effort to be more understanding with his mother and to offer help wherever he could (even though that usually meant emptying the dishwasher and other menial tasks). He noticed patterns in their life that he used to make the day-to-day just that little bit more bearable, the most important of which was making a cup of tea with two sugars for his mother whenever she got off the telephone after another ferocious argument with his absentee old man. From the snippets of conversation he'd “accidentally” overheard, the issue was one of money and divorce, words that meant little to even his mature mind. Therefore, to get away from all the anger, he started a pattern of taking Homer into the garden whenever his mother picked up the phone and would play until he could see her in the kitchen.

         He snaps back to the present, skidding to a halt and standing stock still with a confused expression across his face. He now remembers why he was in the garden before he arrived in this alien world. He'd walked downstairs to the sound of heated debate and saw his mother on the  phone, red faced and screaming.
         “Well tough shit Jackson you can't see him. Two years, two fucking years, do you hear me? How stupid are you to think you can see him now?”
         Jim didn't like being talked about, especially in such a nasty way and so he had bolted outside, whistling for Homer as he did. They played and raced as they both loved to do, he lay on the grass with the sun beaming down, heard that unnerving bark from Homer and suddenly saw her. His mother, marching towards him with madness in her eyes.
         Joe barks in front of him. The glaze leaves Jim's eyes and they focus on his friend. Somehow he is no longer there, in his place is a person. Nothing more than a shadow at first but as it moves towards him its features became distinct. The boy falls to the ground, eyes wide with fear and awe.
         “Tom?”