Sweat

The boar got there first.

With a momentous effort, with a herculean grunt, the animal wrenched its tusk free and scrambled back. Bob could only watch helplessly. He finally understood.

It was the boar that was the true hero of ages. The sword of destiny. The hammer of justice.

Bob was just some naked guy in a tree.

The only silver lining of the whole affair was that the boar had learned the sanctity of Bob's personal space. The creature kept well back as Bob attempted and failed to reunite with his dagger contingent.

The thing was just too damn heavy. Not that the mud and rain were making things any easier. The knife just kept slipping down or turning over or falling out, like it enjoyed the sound of Bob's angry cursing.

In the end, Bob's patience ran out. What could he do with a dagger up here anyway?

Bob had better luck with the paperback. He managed to get a branch between the pages and slowly hook the thing up. That explained how he'd ended up here—chewing on an apple as he thumbed happily through the pages of Jonny the Man and the Kiwi Warriors.

Another, lesser man might have worn himself out, worrying about the angry monster camped under his feet. Another, lesser man might have found it impossible to focus on the fictitious struggles of Jonny the Man and his band of Kiwi warriors.

But Bob, Bob was made of sterner stuff.

The plot was just about what you'd imagine. Jonny had stumbled upon an ancient virtual reality console and somehow ended up trapped inside the game. Turned out Jonny was unique in the cosmos (big surprise) with access to all twelve Ki essences. And the grey-bearded master, Yamada Taro, had come out of retirement to mentor young Jonny.

Yamada-sensei had taught Jonny the importance of Wi, self-mastery, the energy of one's soul that came through discipline and meditation, and Jonny had formed the Kiwi ("Ki Wi") Warriors. But his fledgling organisation was being challenged by the tyrannical Wiki ("Wi Ki") Warriors and their local strongman, Kai Vortex.

Jonny was facing down Kai now. Or he was doing his best to avoid getting flattened, because Kai was in the process of displaying an absurd and inhuman level of power. Jonny would have to dig pretty deep to get himself out of this one. Implausibly deep. Power up likely.

The story was quite a page-turner and Bob enjoyed himself thoroughly. It's amazing what a good book can do. Bob laughed. He cried. He almost fell out of the tree. How did the author come up with this stuff? It was pure gold. Or...

Bob read back a passage to himself. One of Jonny's flashbacks as he sought the metaphysical inspiration necessary to defeat a superior foe:

"Jonny, get this through your thick skull. Survival ain't enough. We all goin' to die. You goin' to die, Jonny."

"No I ain't."

"Yes you are, Jonny. You think you some kinda demi-god. You goin' die, Jonny. You goin' die good. But listen to me. I'm saying something here. You need to get stronger. For others sure, for your little sis, for grandad, but more than that, for you. Remember this, boy: sweat makes the man. You ain't sweating enough."

"I sweat plenty." Jonny smelled his shirt. "Smell this."

"God, that smells bad."

Sometimes Bob had trouble telling if a book was really good or really bad. Was the author trying to be funny or serious? It sounded like it was potentially profound, but the idea was just hidden really well beneath crude humour and questionable grammar. On first reading, Bob had been moved by Yamada-sensei's exceptional insight but, on reading back, was it all just setup for the sweat joke?

Bob deliberated a moment, hesitated a second, and then... decided.

It was profound.

The author, Bob squinted at the cover, Jonny Johnson was an absolute genius. Bob thanked the heavens for literature. Even in the midst of his existential crisis, even after the world went completely to the dogs, even as a pissed-off, half-blind giant pig squatted under his tree, waiting to skewer him alive, Bob had Jonny. And as long as Bob had Jonny, everything would be just all right.

Ten minutes later Bob closed the book.

He hadn't wanted to stop. Oh no, far from it. If he could, Bob would have read straight through to the end. He wanted to read through.

But alas, it was becoming impossible to make out what was happening. The rain hadn't let up and by now the pages had gone soggy and the ink was starting to smudge.

Bob would never know Jonny's fate...

Bob stared up into the grey sky, the picture of a tortured soul. He'd spent the whole workday looking forward to Jonny's adventures and now he'd never know... Never ever ever. Bob might very well be holding the last surviving copy in the whole universe and it had just been rained through. Tough that. Real tough. Not fair.

Not fair at all.

Bob finished his apple. He'd made a point of not giving anything to the boar below, hoping it'd finally get so hungry it would have to start searching for food. But, at this point, Bob was pretty sure the boar would rather starve to death at its post than leave him in peace.

Bob tossed the apple core into the air and caught it. He was pissed. Forty percent due to this system initiation thing and sixty percent due to the disappointment of not finding out the ultimate destiny of Jonny the Man.

So... to hell with it.

Bob hurled the pit down at the animal below. A pleasurable thunk told him he'd hit his mark.

He felt a little better. It had really made quite a pleasing sound. A warm glow filled his heart. Undiminished even when the pig started scoffing down the remains of the apple. Undiminished even when the beast found gall enough to look expectantly up at Bob as though hoping for seconds.

Well, if it made them both feel better, who was Bob to defy fate?

Bob gathered up a handful of hard, round apples, red and ripe. Time to begin the onslaught. Fire! He chucked apple after apple at the dumb brute, each one bouncing perfectly off its thick skull before rolling into the mud. Bob hadn't felt this good in weeks.

The boar on its side was wild with delight. It didn't know where to turn, rushing first left then right, nose in the mud, hoovering up apple after apple until... gulp and suddenly the animal was coughing and spitting—that last apple hadn't gone down quite right.

"Aha!" Bob gloated over his foe. "That was my plan all along (no it wasn't). You've fallen for my trap, dumb brute. That's what you get for messing with Bob Brown, (junior) Quality Assurance Engineer."

The boar stumbled back, bucking and convulsing. It lashed out to left and right, battling imagined enemies as its brain starved for oxygen, and in its confusion, it slammed broadside straight against Bob's tree.

Bob, arms filled with apples, mid-toss, was... unanchored.

He wavered a moment, almost regained himself, and then... it was all gone and he was tumbling down. His foot jarred into the ground. His head was thrown back, smacking against the hard wood. Up splashed a wave of mud that engulfed everyone and everything. The boar swivelled at the sound and charged madly.

Brave, noble Bob, our mighty hero, at this last pitch of desperation, at this moment for champions, did the only thing he could.

He cowered, arms coming up to protect his head, whimpering about his god-forsaken luck, wishing he were a squirrel-like creature and could scurry up the trunk and away, waiting for the inevitable end, waiting and waiting and...

Ping!