A TALE



On the fifth day, Jules could no longer stand the hunger.

He had begun chewing on his gloves halfway through the third day without food. His chewing had left the material damp, mashed and torn. Chewing his gloves did little to abate his hunger then. Now ruined, and one day further along without food, Jules didn’t even have the comfort of his gloves to ease the stomach pains.

He considered drinking more water. He could fill his belly with fluid. On the second day, Jules drank his fill. This was the only time. Repeat the process too often and he’d have no water to go along with having no food. So, Jules rationed the cell’s water.

Jules had ducked into the cell to escape a mercury storm on Dimpler One, a remote planet tucked away in a galaxy far, far away from the Earth of his birth. Starving to death a million light years from home.

Shelter cells had been installed in numerous locations in this sector of “Dimp.” They were designed as temporary shelters to protect surveyors and engineers from the lethal mercury storms.

Cells supposedly contained water, food, communication devices, and systems to alert occupants when the storm had passed. Most storms lasted a day or two tops. Cells were equipped with enough food and water to last an occupant two weeks.

Yet, many cells’ contents were damaged during installation. Ships dropped the cells into the terrain. The impact sunk cells into the ground like dice tossed into sand. This process safely installed the cells without endangering workers by building them in the storm zone. Yet, this process often damaged the cell and its contents.

Jules found himself in both a damaged cell, and an apparently previously used cell.

Five days ago, he entered the cell, without a thought of food and drink. The storm raged, while Jules rested safe and secure in the cell. Within hours, the storm ended. The alarm indicated safe conditions outside, but the cell door did not open.

He could not open the door manually. He discovered the cell’s communication system had also been damaged as well as its homing device. Rescuers would look for him, but would have to do so cell by cell in a portion of the planet where a dozen or more cells dotted every square mile of a land mass consisting of hundreds of thousands of square miles.

He waited. He found water, but no food. Perhaps, the cell had been occupied previously and the last occupant ate all of the food. The cell should have been restocked but had not.

Still, Jules kept the faith. Keeping in good spirits was as important as a full belly. More so, when nothing offered to satisfy his hunger.

He remained hopeful even on the third day when he began chewing one glove and then the other. It was what had to be done to survive. It would make an interesting story whenever the rescuers found him any minute now.

That minute stretched into two more days. Five days in the cell. No food. Jules, a mad man with gnawed gloves, a mad man surrounded by walls etched with the numbers 5993. Over and over, 5993, 5993, 5993, 5993, 5993, 5993, 5993 ...

Early during his confinement, Jules decided the number must be his salvation. He entered 5993 into the codex of the ruined communications system. He tried entering 5993 into the homing device, into the computer circuitry of the broken door.

He sat for hours attempting to unravel the potential life-saving formula of 5993. What was he missing? What could it mean? Why was it repeatedly etched on the cell walls: 5993, 5993, 5993, 5993, 5993 ... Madness, madness, starving, starving, 5993, 5993, 5993 ...

He clawed at the walls. They tumbled forward. Jules crushed by the numbing weight of compartments reading 5993, 5993, 5993 ...

Rescuers found the cell two weeks later. A veteran of many Dimpler rescues led a novice in the search.

They found Jules’ remains under a stack of broken containers. A yellow paste covered the dead body.

“What is that?” the novice asked.

“Huh, egg yolk,” the lead rescuer answered.

“What d’ya think happened?”

“Looks like the cell was installed upside down. Busted the door and he couldn’t get out.”

“How can you possibly know that? You haven’t even looked at anything.”

“I’ve seen all I need to see,” the veteran answered. “Look at the walls. See all the egg crates are upside down. See, EGGS. What’d you think? The crates read 5993?”



Dean Poling is The Valdosta Daily Times assistant managing editor.