1.9 Cleaning Spree

Michael removed the pieces of stones from the fire using a stick. Once he was done, Michael searched the area for a few sticks he could use to cook his fish. He found five such sticks and used three of them to cook all the fishes he had.

Over time, the aroma of cooked fish filled his nostrils, and his stomach growled with hunger. He wanted to gnaw at the fish there and then, but he forced himself to wait.

When the fish was well-done, he finally took a bite, without even removing it from the stick.

"Hot. Hot. Hot."

Michael swallowed it and blew at the fish before taking the next bite. Taste of the fish in his mouth made his eyes water. It had no seasonings, not even salt, yet it still tasted heavenly. His hunger was far more tastier than any food.

He finished all three fish, which surprised even Michael. He had never eaten so much food at once.

"What a meal," Michael said as he sprawled on his back on the mouldy floor, looking up at the thatched roof with glaring holes in it.

Michael stayed like that until his food coma passed.

He stretched-out and ran a few laps around the pavilion. The force of the sun made him sweat, and he had to stop quickly.

Michael frowned. It must have been many hours since I woke up in this place. Why is it still daytime?

He looked up. The sun made his eyes water, and it was still high in the sky. There were no clouds.

Were days longer in this world than back home? It had to be. Of course, time was relative, and he might have misjudged the passage of time because of his harsh experience. Minutes might have felt like hours to him.

The day was still young, and here in the wilderness, there was no such thing as TV or video games. He had to do something to pass the time. It appeared hard work was the best policy.

"Time to do some stuff."

Michael pulled the intact fishing-net from the beam and took it to the river. He did not know how to use the net, so he simply spread it into the river and tied the rope in the tree trunk nearest to the river.

As he did so, he saw that something was lodged in the tree. It was at the back, so he had not noticed it before looping the rope around the tree trunk.

It was an axe. The blade had rust in it, but it had not corroded too badly, and even the haft seemed to have been made out of an excellent wood.

Michael grabbed the axe and tried to pull it free. It barely budged. He tried again. Same result.

"Wow, you are really in there, aren't you?" Michael said, hands on hips. "You think you are stubborn, hun. I will show you the meaning of stubbornness."

Michael grabbed the haft of the axe and heaved with everything he had, one foot on the tree trunk. At first, Michael thought it was not working, but then the axe came free. The recoil of it made him fall backwards with a thump. A spike of pain shot through his back.

Michael groaned.

He stood back up, hand on his back. That hurt terribly.

"Why do I keep falling like that?" Michael cursed. "This world must hate me."

Michael eyed the axe. The blade had tarnished a bit, and it was rusted in places, but not too badly. He could still use it as a weapon if need be.

Finally, he had everything he needed; water, food, shelter, and now, a weapon.

Michael returned to the pavilion, axe carried in both hands. He sat it down.

"Well, it's time to clean and scavenge. It's not like I have anything else to do."

He began separating the items into three different piles. The first pile contained pots and other utensils that could be used once he cleaned them thoroughly.

Things that could be burned for fire went into the second—some withered, others not. He found a few cloth. They were in a terrible condition, but he thought he could at least use it as a mop. He even found a shovel that was in good condition. Well, not in a good condition, but in a usable condition.

Useless things deserved the third pile. These were rusted metals and other similar things. 

Michael carried a pot, went to the river, filled it with water, and came back. He then used the water to clean the pavilion floor. After multiple trips to the river and back. The floor was spotless—except for the holes in them.

"Now what?"

He looked around to find more things to do. Well, why not clean the pots and plates?

He looked at them, then at the river, and sighed. The thought of carrying so many pots to the river gave him a headache. The pavilion may be next to the river, but there was still a minute of walking distance between them. And Michael did not like the idea of carrying pots again and again just to clean them.

Back home, the thought of him cleaning anything would have astonished his mother, but here it was just a distraction. Something to do, to keep his mind away from dangerous thoughts.

How could all this be happening to him? It wasn't fair. No, don't think about it. Just work Michael. Work!

"Ok, How do I do this?"

His eyes fell on one of the four barrel-sized pots, and an idea struck him.

Ugh, but I will have to clean it as well. Michael twisted his mouth in disgust. The thought of it alone made him nauseous.

Michael shook his head. It was either that, or do tens of round trips. With a sigh, he got to work.

Michael carried the pot away from the pavilion and tossed the contents onto the bushes. He even used soil to remove as much as filth as was possible and took it to the river to clean it further. Since there was no dish soap, he used the ash from the fire to clean it. It was disgusting work, but he managed.

Once he finished cleaning the first barrel-sized pot, he decided why not clean the second pot? And on he went, cleaning all four pots in the end.

He filled all the pots with water and carried them back to the pavilion, one by one. It was heavy, but he had more strength than he remembered. He used the water to clean everything else.

Once he was done with the cleaning, he organised the cleaned materials; the pots, the plates, and everything in between.

By the time he had finished, it was already nighttime. The rising moon, casting a light in an otherwise dark pavilion. The pavilion looked nothing like how he had found it. Oh, it was still worn down, but at least it was tidy and didn't smell of a thousand deaths.

Michael gathered some grass and leaves and made a bundle out of it to use them as a makeshift pillow. He brought his pillow next to the fire pit and slept there, allowing the dying embers to keep him warm for the night.

After everything he had been through, sheer exhaustion took him under in minutes.