Heyena Challenge Six

            Food was scarce in the early years of our coming to Murdab. After only a few months, the stores on the ship were diminishing. In all actuality, we would not have made it. At least, if it weren't for the Furcotts.

            The Furcotts were native creatures to Murdab, the Glorious Green Globe. They were primitive, compared to even the most primitive of animals on our home planet, Earth. They were quite easy to catch, once we discovered their existence, and they tasted absolutely divine; so much better than the freeze dried food we had in store, that food that was quickly running dry.

            Our journey was supposed to be one of vast importance; a voyage that would be recognized world wide as one of the most important manned space flights in the history of space exploration. We were to be the first men to travel at light speed; the first to reach the Outer Galaxies. That was indeed what happened, however the theories of what might happen were incorrect; at least the theories of the scientists we trusted. They had believed that all would be well, and we would reach any destination in a matter of light years.

            These theories, however, were devastatingly incorrect. When our captain activated the Light Speed generator, the systems on board the ship failed. Everything, from the gravity simulator to the lights. Our entire ship was a heap of manufactured malfunction.

            Apparently the oxygen refresher had been shut off as well, because soon, we felt as if we were suffocating. The entire crew; the Captain, the deckhands, even the chef's boy. The next thing I know, we'd landed on this planet; this planet we now call Murdab.

            It was going to be a difficult feat, but our crew was determined to get back home. There was nothing we wouldn't do to get there; nothing we wouldn't do to survive this experience. It wasn't that simple, however. It was maddening, being stuck on a foreign planet, not knowing what you can and cannot eat, no water; at least, nothing that we saw as drinkable water.

            The first to crack was Mel. He had been a faint hearted young man, full of hopes and dreams; always the first to act on a plan. A true survivor. That is, until the Howlers showed up. They broke him; these truly terrifying creatures, with their four eyes, their huge fangs, enormous size, their thick brown fur, and red mane around their head. Yes, their appearance was frightening, but after hearing only ten seconds of their horrifying cry, you see their outside as beautiful, and realize just how bad these things are. The howl alone could destroy a man from the inside out. Drive him so utterly insane, so far down the road to lunacy, that there are no U turns, no possible way to turn back and escape the inevitable ending of driving off the face of the world.

            Mel was the first, yes, but oh, was he not the last. The Howlers were monsters; horrid creatures of the night which will drag you from your slumber and pull you into a nightmare that you could never return from. Compared to the Grants, though, Howlers were bush babies; tiny, harmless creatures that sat there, looking cute. Grants were the most atrocious things I had ever lain eyes on in my entire existance.



            On a warm night, already a few weeks after our landing on Murdab, I heard it. A howling, not much different from the howling from the Howlers. In truth, I hadn't even registered a difference. I rang the bell that had been created to warn the crew of Howlers, or anything else that might wander upon our resting place. It rang, and rang, and rang, my fists gripping tight on the nylon rope, pulling it again and again; I was warning my family, my crew, that it was time to hide, and to cover our ears. It wasn't until the creature was upon us that we realized it wasn't a howler. It was something much worse. A monster more monstrous than the most monstrous monster ever fathomed. It stood on two legs; two gray, slimy, scaly legs. From head to foot, at least by my approximation, the beast was 45 feet tall. It's body was enormous, the same as it's legs. The head of this massive thing was the size of a small car, and it was furry. The only hair on it's enitre body grew from its head and face. There were fangs, much like those of the Howlers, which protruded from it's huge, dumb looking mouth, it's eyes directly above the mouth. It had seven of them; big, beady black eyes that depicted infancy. It was clear that this animal was either a child; possibly a newborn, or it was plainly exceedingly unintelligent.

            My crew hid in the places in which they were most comfortable hiding; those places that were quite obviously unobvious; out of site. I could sense their fear, I could feel their heartache, because my ability of empathy was strong in moments of dread. It had to be, to be the captain.

            The creature, or Grant, as we now call it, sniffed around with a nose which was not visible from our vantage point, and seemed quite uninterested with what it smelt. I breathed an inward sigh of relief as it turned, and began walking away.

            Suddenly, without any notice, a Furcott came bounding in the midst of our camp, gaining the attention of the Grant. The dreadful thing turned in its tracks, and looked down at the other tiny animal, baring its fangs. The Furcott seemed to not notice the giant Grant standing mere yards away from it, practically liking its lips, anticpating a quick snack.

            The tiny creature looked around, it's furry little head bouncing this way and that. Then it began to purr, almost cat-like. It purred, and purred, and purred some more, until it was obviously purred out. Then it moved a few paces, and began to purr again. The odd little animal did this over and over and over again, until it had paced the entire camp twice. Eventually, it grew tired, or something of the sort, and left. The suns were nearly setting, those bright, hot, blue and green suns that rise and set in the same direction. As soon as the Furcott left, the Grant came closer to our camp once more, and looked around. It looked right at me, I swear it, then turned away, howled it's great howl once more, and disappeared.

            It hadn't disappeared as if it were going away quickly. It disappeared into thin air, as if it had not truly been there. That day was one of the most horrific days in my life.

July 14, 2049 (Day 32)

Dear diary,                                                                               

            It was difficult today. There are no more Furcotts. They seem to have grown wary of our presence, and of our consumption of  them. It is the second day I have gone without food, and the devilish taste of those Furcotts is torturing me. I NEED those Furcotts. And I don't think I'm the only one. The rest of the crew is becoming more and more restless. I don't know how long it's going to be before they all go mad and kill the captain. Captain Frenzwick is a wonderful man, but many think he's not doing his job properly. He should be finding us places to find food, new places for shelter. But all he does is sit inside that stupid piece of ship. He thinks he can fix it, but we all know he hasn't got a chance. If he doesn't do something soon, I fear for the poor man's life.

            I went exploring today. And in my search of food I found a forest. Not a mile away from camp, the trees look like those back at home. I thought maybe I could find food in there, but no luck. I didn't see anything that looked like it could be eaten. And a man like me can usually find anything to eat. I was the first one to eat a Furcott. And now look. Two weeks, and we had had enough food to last. Now it's been over a month, and we have nothing. Was it my fault? I really don't think so. I think I saved the crew; at least, for the time being. Maybe I'll be able to find something tomorrow. Now I must find something to satiate my ravenous hunger.

                                                                                    Sincerely,

                                                                                    Treynor Tibet



            We lasted for nearly two months on Murdab, before people began to fight. The lack of food, the lack of water, the lack of earth's sun. It was all getting to my crew. They were beginning to threaten me. No, I hadn't been going on expeditions to find food or better shelter. I've been working relentlessly on rebuilding my ship. I was their only chance of ever getting home. If I didn't do it, no one would, and everyone would be stuck here. Forever. That was one thing I refused to let happen. My men were not going to die on this planet. There was no way of reproduction. We wouldn't be able to renew our people upon this planet. My men would become extinct on this planet, and there was no denying it. The only chance was if I got the ship back up and running.

It was the 40th day after our crash. The suns were rising in the north, the same direction in which they would set aproximately 29 hours later. I was already awake, for I hadn't even gone to sleep the night before. I thought I was getting somewhere with the ship. Maybe not the whole thing working, but I thought I almost had a connection on the inter-universal video communicator. If I could only contact someone on earth, they would be able to send rescue. Hopefully. It was almost finished, I was almost ready when I heard it. I heard some of my men shouting outside, though their exact words were lost on the wind, and in between the steel of the ship. I wasn't sure what they were saying, but their tones made me nervous, a bit apprehensive.

I abandoned my work aboard the ship, and stepped outside to see two groups of my men, each facing each other, as if in a challenge. One of the groups, the smaller one, was blocking my ship, facing out toward the Great Green Plains. The other, which was a group of most of my men, was facing the ship. Each and every one of them had an expression of pure hatred apon their faces, though each of them hated different things. I was confused when I saw this. What was happening?

            "You will NOT harm the Captain, Arnold. If you want a new leader, there is no reason for violence. I'm sure we can work something reasonable out!" said the man leading the first group. That was Garrett Heraldi, my right hand man. Thank god for him. I would probably dead now if it weren't for him.

            "Forget your damn peace! We're killing him! Something needs to be done, and if we don't do it now, it will never get done!" That was when I realized my mistakes. It was time for me to step down. I would not let myself be killed, because if I were, my men would have no chance in ever returning home. I stepped out from the shadows of my ship, and announced my presence. I cleared my thoat. I know, it's cliché, but how else are you supposed to do it?

            "Men, men! There is no motivation for violence. I know you desire new headship. I am sorry I have brought so much hopelessness into your hearts. I am sorry we are stranded on this jaden planet. I resign my leadership. You may decide your own way to survive. I will be a simple workman, just as you yourselves. I am truly sorry." By the end of my stiff, dull speech, there were tears in my eyes. I knew that by resigning my leadership, my captainship, I was resigning to the fate that was now inevitable. The fate which I saw obvious; which apparantly my men did not forsee. At that moment, I said goodbye to my family, to my home. It was now unattainable, no longer approachable; foreign. There was no longer a place in existance for the men of Heyena Challenge Six.