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A mile turned to 10 miles. A day turned to a week.
Where did they say they were, again?
Wilson had been traveling his way east, trying to locate the secondary base he'd been directed to via letter. Never in all his time here had he ever expected to receive postage from a spider, and yet there he was. Webber must have been working really hard training his little 6-legged friends.
Even though he was typically a man of solitude, Wilson found the journey lonely. The heat of the approaching summer made progress increasingly difficult, leaving him frequently staring at the melting glaciers as he passed them. Heat stroke would be a real threat, if he didn't find the base soon. Thoughts of passing out mid-hike with no one around to offer medical attention plagued his weary mind. It frightened him, in all honesty. Though he'd died and come back many a time already in this unforgiving world, he couldn't stop being terrified of death.
"I don't want to die out here," Wilson muttered to himself as he traversed a volatile patch of swampland. "please be around here somewhere."
Tentacles were the worst thing about swamps. He kept a careful eye out for movements on the ground; those were the only signs one could preemptively perceive before death by tentacles could occur.
A bubbling sensation under his foot alerted him of one right under him. Without thinking, he darted forward and swung around just in time to see the ugly, spiked thing shoot up from out of the ground. It didn't wait long to swing; Wilson barely dodged in time to avoid getting impaled. He panted.
This place – he couldn't do this. Even with the sun close to setting, he couldn't stay here. He ran in a direction – any direction, really – and didn't stop, didn't look back. His eyes strained painfully; he hadn't slept in days. Exhaustion took its toll, it seemed. His lungs burned and struggled for air, each impact of his foot against the mushy earth knocking his breath away before he could finish taking it. Muscles in his legs screamed in agony.
It hurts. Please- please stop hurting. I can't breathe-
Trees. Trees of the piney variety. Grass!
Safety.
Not even upon reaching the new biome was Wilson able to rest. There was so little time – he hurried setting up a fire before night fell. He hadn't come all this way to become Charlie's dinner.
It wasn't until flames crackled in front of him that the trembling scientist allowed himself rest. Sighing, he laid down next to the campfire and relaxed his overused, tired muscles. The trees swayed gently around him, dark forms against which sparks glowed brightly in the air. Wilson stared at them absently. Perhaps he'd sleep tonight... Bedroll or not, he was so tired that it didn't matter. Even the ground was comfortable at this point.
Light danced around him as he slept.
. . .
Warm.
He cracked open his eyes, blinded by the brightness of everything around him. Such a stark contrast, from the cool darkness of his eyelids. Birds sung out in the distance, accompanied by rustling of pine needles in the wind and crackles from the fire. The fire...
Was still going?
Wilson sat up, ignoring the pain in his back. The fire was indeed still burning, and-
Wait, no. This couldn't be right.
Rocks surrounded the diameter of the fire, making a pit. This was not his doing – someone else must have come by while he slept. Who could-?
“Morning, dear Higgsbury.” Came a voice from just across him in the treeline. A human form – tall and lanky – appeared with a rustle of leaves and pine needles.
Oh.
“The hell d'you want, Maxwell?” Wilson scoffed in drowsy annoyance, rubbing an eye.
Maxwell stopped right in front of the firepit, standing tall and composed. “Eh, just stopping by. Your fire went out, so I started it back up for you.”
Wilson nodded curtly. As much as he hated being nice to this son of a bitch, it would be un-gentlemanly in this situation not to be. Maxwell smiled in that showman-ly way of his, and took a seat down on the grass.
“So, what's a midget like you doing out here all alone?”
Fuck you, Maxwell. Wilson gritted his teeth. Why does he always have to say things like that? It was so unneccesary! He would have been willing to give the guy a chance this time, but that speck of patience disappeared in an instant.
His brow folded down in a frown. “Not to be rude, but I-” Wilson stood up at full height. “-am not a midget.”
“Oh?” Maxwell's tone mocked him. “With a height like that, what are you, then?”
Anger bubbled from inside him. Of course he'd latch on to the one thing he was sensitive about.
He crossed his arms. “I am a shorter than average man, of course. What's wrong with that?”
Maxwell laughed, shaking his head.
“Also known as a midget. What does it matter, Higgsbury?”
“Ugh!” Wilson clutched his forhead in his hands, exasperated. “Dwarfism is a condition of which I don't have, you oaf! I have normal adult male proportions and height is not the only factor in determining who is a midget and who is a normal, shorter than average person!”
The fire crackled between them, amplifying the silence. Maxwell's stunned face brought the slightest bit of satisfaction to Wilson, who was all but fuming over this whole ordeal.
“I was not aware of 'midget' being another word for a person with a medical condition. My apologies, Higgsbury.”
Wilson rubbed his forehead, a headache creeping into his skull.
“That's okay, I just-”
“Is it a slur?” The man across from him interrupted.
“Huh?” The question took him aback. A slur? Maybe not to the public, no. But to those affected by such a condition... And to himself. He hadn't given it much thought until now, but he was very sensitive about his height. Why... why did that word set him off so badly? Aside from his time in medical school, where he learned of various conditions that could affect people from birth. Perhaps he'd just internalized it. Maybe it was a slur to him.
Maxwell repeated himself. “Is 'midget' a slur of some sort?”
He nodded, deciding that yes, it was indeed a slur. “Perhaps not as severe as, say, the N word. But still quite hurtful to some, me included.”
Wilson watched Maxwell's face as the man sat in thought.
“Interesting...”
The thoughtful silence engulfed them once more, stretching out for a respectable period of time before Maxwell stood up and turned to the trees.
“I suppose I shall take my leave, then. Good day to you.”
And he was gone.
Left to stand alone by the fire, Wilson stared into the trees.
I hate you, Maxwell. he thought to himself. But maybe not as much as I did before.