30 Days to Save the World

Aug 17 - The Florida Man

The sound of the radio grew louder, and two women, draped in gray robes walked down the street. Their hands were pressed together before them as if they were in the most devout of prayers to their alien masters. Hanging from the wrist of the one was a portable radio. Gritting his teeth, forced to listen to the voice of Pippin, he continued tightening the bolts.

Perch opened his mouth and hissed, and Cletus rubbed two fingers down his scales in praise. "Good boy."

He was glad Perch hated listening to Pippin as much as he did; Pippin who was content to lead hundreds, if not thousands to their deaths, as long as his pockets got lined. It wasn't clear if he was accepting cash or only things that would be useful once the number above them hit zero.

The women turned and walked up his driveway. "Good evening, weary traveler," they said in unison.

He couldn't tell them apart. They both had long blonde hair and skin as pale as the white of his buttcheeks.

"Unless you have news about my wife, you have five seconds to get off my property." He didn't have much in the way to threaten them with right then so he picked up the baby gator and held him out before him like Perch was some ravenous creature.

Perch hissed, really selling the act.

Backing up a couple of steps, the two women glanced at each other.

"Pippin sent us," one said.

"He thought you may wish to follow in your wife's steps," the other said.

"If I become brainwashed and enslaved to those snake-tongued aliens, then who is there to save me?" He stabbed outward with Perch like he was a fencer. "En garde, you doughy-eyed charlatans."

As one, they titled their heads to the side. "Doughy?"

"Doughy." After all, they looked like deers in headlights before the might of Perch. "You can tell Pippin that when we meet, I'll be kicking his offer up his ass."

Perch hissed again, and the two women scurried off.

"Yeah, you get on out of here, you lizard-loving disciples."

They picked up speed after that, and Cletus set Perch back down, feeling smug.

"And that's how you get rid of a cult."

Perch stared up at him.

"You really should be writing all this down."

By the time he finished attaching the hang glider to his boat, the two women were long gone. Now he just needed to load up his truck with the necessary supplies and pour his remaining supply of gas into its tank.

He set his wrench in his toolbox and vaulted himself over the edge of his boat. The trailer it rested on was rusty, nearing the end of its usability. He had planned to replace it in the next few months.

He crouched down so his shoulder was in line with the edge of the boat. "Come on, Perch." And just like that, the baby gator crawled onto his shoulder and hung on to his shirt, hence Perch's name.

As Cletus walked up his driveway, Perch's claws continued to dig through his shirt and into his skin, but Cletus was used to it by now. He bent down, pulling two keys from his pocket, and unlocked his garage, first undoing the latch on the main lock and then on the deadbolt he had installed a few days ago. His muscles strained as he rolled the door up, and the overhead light flickered on, illuminating the forms of long-dead bugs stuck to its clear surface.

For a moment, he could imagine that tonight was like any other night he returned home late from a long day of work. It was like he could hear the TV set to the Hallmark channel. The white fridge near the door leading inside seemed to tempt him to open it and check for leftovers of the dinner Beth had either made or had delivered. On nights like that, he'd pop the leftovers in the microwave, and as the timer counted down, he'd go into the living room and kiss Beth's cheek from behind.