Blend the Light

So Here's the Dealio...

 The creature lifts his head and looks at me patiently, not making a sound. He blinks slowly. I chew on my lip. "A name, a name, a name," I murmur. I start going through names, but all I get are the names of fellow T-LOOT-Dians and Guthrie Harper. Not so helpful. Jay, Adrien, Vladimir, Karla, Karly, Kayla, Sasha, Sparkles, Guthrie Harper, the list goes on. Rosemary shows up, along with spinach, carrots, and dandelions. I groan as my head falls into my hands. What on earth do I name him? Who knew this could be so hard! Am I supposed to name him after a vegetable? I wouldn't hear the end of it! Wait. What if... "Do you have a name?" I murmur. The creature looks at me steadily, his eyes not saying anything. Not even a peep. I pout at him, giving him a half-hearted glare though I smile a moment later. "Fred? Bob? I hope not Bear. Charlie? I don't know. Hunter? Jasper? Come on. You gotta give me something." I trace letters in the dust.

I give up. I've gone through a couple dozen names, and all of them sound stupid. The creature hasn't shown any expression other than the blank one he's been wearing ever since the Wasteland guards left. I pace around the perimeter of the cell. My hand absentmindedly rubs against the bruise on my cheek. I feel the sharp bite of its sting. The creature tilts his head to the side as I drop down so I'm sitting a foot or so away from him. I look at him, craning my head until I'm eye to eye with him. "Come on, give me any answer. I'm not picky. Do you have a name?" I watch the creature closely, searching for any sign of an answer. My finger traces over the letters again and again. They become clearer; dark grey stone against pale dust. "I'm gonna guess that you don't?" I ask, hoping I'm right. The creature's expression changes. Now he's frowning at me. Now I have to guess his name... "You do?" I murmur. The creature sighs, and rests his head on his paws. He looks disappointed in me. If only he could speak... Then he could just tell me his name.

I look down at the letters. Well, they're a little misshapen, so they're not quite letters any more. They sort of look like a... What do they look like? I'm not entirely sure. The outline of the letters looks a little like some sort of animal; there's a tail, some giant legs with little forelimbs, and horns, no, spikes perhaps running down the back. I frown, looking at it for several long seconds. Then it clicks. "Oh, now I'm thoroughly an idiot. It looks a bit like a T-rex," I say as I let my head fall into my hands with a smile. I chuckle softly before turning back to the creature. T-rex? Just Rex? I try both names under my break a few times. Rex sounds better. "How does Rex sound?" The creature lifts his head, a smile spreading across his face.

"Rex it is." I smile as well.

xxxx

Days tick by, each one longer and more boring than the previous one. The Wasteland guards haven't shown up, nor has anyone shown up to deliver food. At first, I was hopeful that someone had just forgotten about me, but now I'm sure it wasn't a mistake. With my stomach rumbling and my mouth as dry as the Wasteland, my mind is all over the place. I can't focus on much of anything. I groan and sit down, leaning against the wall. I've only done a few laps around the cell, and my legs already feel exhausted. Rex lays down beside me, his head in my lap. His eyes show that he's feeling just as bad as me. It's "only" been a few days, and his fur has lost the sheen it held before. I stroke his back. "I know, I know. I feel it too, Rex. Believe me. They're trying to make us weaker and more desperate so we'll give up information. It's never going to happen though; I'd rather die than give anything up, and I'll keep fighting them until my last breath and my last drop of blood." Rex looks up at me, and his expression tells me he feels the same way.

My head is spinning in circles like someone put me on a merry-go-round with a jetpack attached to it and told me to hang on tight. I'm floating on clouds, a million miles off the ground and still going up. My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth. Water, oh, water, how I took you for granted before. I really do love water. Water tastes like nothing, but I'm, like, sixty percent water. So what percent water am I now? Fifty? More? Less? I don't know. Fifty seems awfully low. It's probably wrong. Oh, and food... I do love you as well. I wonder how long they'll try to starve me before they show up. They wouldn't starve me to death, would they? They want answers which I have, but I'm not going to give them up. Would they really starve me to death? My stomach rumbles. The Wasteland guards would have to be stupid to let me die though they could do that. I'd like to say I would rather die than give up information about T-LOOT-D, but I'm so hungry, and I really want to eat something. I've never been a particularly picky eater, but now I'm even less so.