Day #222: The Oregon Trail

oregontrail

These are dark times for us.

I have many a day to wait, unfulfilled as I stand by and watch so many others explore the skies that can be claimed by no man.  But I will not falter, for I have a task to do.  On this day, while so many get lost in the stars, I will keep my feet planted firmly in the soil of this great nation and go west, like so many before me.  I am but one man trying to make an honest living, a saddle-maker by trade, with an eclectic party of four that depend on my superior leadership skills to guide them safety to their new home.

We left in May.  I remember it like it was barely an hour ago.  Things were going swimmingly until the harsh June heat started to bear on our minds and bodies.  Falcor developed typhoid fever, but one day of rest is all I would tolerate.  These were the good old days, dammit!  He isn’t some wussy millennial!  Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and help me hunt these rabbits!

We lost Falcor on July 5, 1848.

Goodnight, sweet prin-wait, it’s July already and I haven’t made it to Green River Crossing yet?  That’s it, grueling pace.  No, Beth, we’re not stopping to hunt.  It’s time to go meager.  We took the wrong trail?  Why is there even a wrong trail?  And now Beth has been bitten by a snake.  You’ll be fine, Beth. It builds character.  What do you mean Starscream died via snakebite related injuries?  I don’t know anyone with that name.  It’s always just been you, me, and M. Bison.  There was never a Starscream, Beth.  Do you hear me?

There was never a Starscream.

Look, times are rough.  We’re all going to need to make some sacrifices around here.  Bare bones rations; everyone gets a raisin skin and some twigs.  Do you want to get to Oregon or not, Beth?  I will not think twice about leaving you here in Idaho.  Idaho Beth, they’ll call you.  Meanwhile, M. Bison and I will be drinking Diet Vanilla Cokes on the lovely beaches of Oregon.  That’ll show you to be a naysayer!

M. Bison died of measles.  He fought until the very end, even attempting to stop those thieves from stealing our oxen.  Unfortunately, his current diet was not enough to maintain the energy levels needed to psycho crusher those ne’er do wells into the Snake River.

Alas, we never made it much further than that, Oregon being a mere glimmer of hope in our eyes as we settled where our wagon stopped.  Idaho Damien, they called me, the tales of my adventures reaching across the land for years and years.  Indeed, I learned many lessons during my journey, but I made sure to pass on the most important message to any that would listen, to make sure that would learn from history and never experience the same misfortunes that I did.

“Don’t be a Beth.”

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