It’s so fucking windy I actually feel like I’m about to become a human projectile. Climbing up this steep ass mountain doesn’t exactly help either, but this will all be worth it once I reach its plateau.
There is a particular Brazilian tribe that I read about in a book my junior year of college, and ever since, I have been yearning to learn more about it. I have searched every nook and cranny for any more information that would give me any tiny shred of knowledge on the Tuerto… By that, I mean I told Hanji to do her magic for me, but even she couldn’t find much. All we gathered after all that goddamn research is that Tuerto means something relative to “one eye,” they live on the highest plateau of the Guiana Highlands, and that the Alma, or “soul” of the tribe, is supposed to be a fucking demigod.
The book was also of no help to anything other than sparking my interest in their culture and then leaving it there to fizzle out. It did, however, give me definitions of certain words and phrases in spanish-their primary language. Now I have no choice but to make use of what meager information I have and bear this tiring 3-day hike up a fucking mountain.
The worst part is, I don’t even know if I’ll see what I’ve been expecting.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I just spent three fucking days sweating and freezing my ass off at the same time and eating nothing but hard bread and disappointing canned soup to find myself in the middle of ass-fucking nowhere.
What if they moved to a different mountain? What if their mountain doesn’t exist? What if they’re just a myth? That could explain the demigod leader situation…
Could they possibly have...?
Oh hell no. I am not letting them die on me. Not today, Satan. If I’m gonna turn my balls into Mother Nature’s punching bag, I am damn well finding these little fuckers.
I just hiked the plateau for another seven hours, and I finally found farmland. Fertile soil, rich with soybeans, corn, coffee, snd some other crops that I don’t even fucking know of, reach up to the horizon. I look further, and I see it.
Holy shit. There’s smoke.
I am fucking sprinting through the soft dirt of the farmland. Never in my life have I ever been so excited to see something burning… For the most part.
Of course, in my frenzy of running like a fucking lunatic toward a largely secluded village full of people who probably look and act nothing like me, I forget that that tends to freak people out. The moment I realize how fucking crazy and even dangerous I look, it’s too late.
I hear shouting in the distance, and next thing I know, I find myself with my hands tied behind my back, being escorted to some sort of dark, disgusting fucking dungeon where I’ll spend the rest of my days playing some mean harmonica and wondering where I went wrong in life. But hey, at least I can say I found the village before I die.
The men who are leading (if not dragging) me to my imminent demise are fucking gargantuan. I might not be the tallest stalk of the harvest, but these guys literally must have their own fucking climate. They are huge, muscular men with golden brown skin and long ebony locks that reach down to their shoulders like curly black waterfalls. I can’t see their faces (probably for the best), but I see that they have intricate red tattoos vining up and down their entire bodies. I can’t imagine what their leader looks like. They’re probably the actual incarnate of King Kong. Hopefully, they’ll just let me die quickly and spare me the annoyance and humiliation of being thrown to their leader like a fucking chew toy.
“Por qué estás aquí? Qué quieres?” One of the gorillas grabs my chin and angles my face so that I’m basically only able to look at his cat-like green eyes. Nothing has made me wish I took spanish in high school more than this exact moment. Hola... cómo estás… mantequilla, what the fuck should I say? He’s not asking for my name, I actually know how to say that. Should I ask them to speak english and risk looking like an even bigger asshole?
“English,” I deadpan, and now he’s completely still. Shit. Fuck me in the ass with a chainsaw, I should’ve just let them keep going. Alright, well it’s too late now. I’ve accepted my fate. Goodbye cruel world. Give my alcohol to Hanji and my tweezers to Erwin-
“Why are you here? Tell your purpose.” He quietly demands. Oh shit, he actually speaks some english. Alright, I might be an asshole, but now there’s a possibility that I will be an asshole that hasn’t been chopped up into bite-sized pieces.
“I want nothing from this village but to observe its people and their customs, pal” Alright alright, that was pretty good Levi. You could have left out the “pal” part, but gold star for effort. He turns to his not-so-little buddy and says fucking whatever and turns back to me while the other leaves the dark little stone hut thing that I guess I’ll be held in for a while. I’m still kneeling on the filthy dirt floor and he’s still awkwardly holding my chin. Please, if there is a God out there, just end my suffering now, because I have a feeling that when his friend comes back, the present awkward silence will be gratefully filled in with the sounds of my bones shattering.
I’m shaken out of my spiralling thoughts by a flute. A powerful, yet airy tone sounds from outside, and it’s actually the most beautiful thing that I have ever heard in my life. It reminds me why I even bothered coming here: to learn more about the people who create such mysterious wonders...
If only I had heard it in different circumstances.
I lower my head as I listen to the song getting louder as it approaches my prison.
Oh god, I hear it right outside the door now. Alright, just make my death quick. Tell Erwin to pluck his caterpillars and tell Hanji that her brownies were fucking trash-
The song stops and my head snaps up as the wooden door’s screeching open… Holy shit.
I know why they’re called the Tuerto now. The man who just entered is looking down at me with eyes that are two different colors. I have seen my share of paintings and shit that had some damn good palettes and whatever, but his eyes are the most enchanting colors that I have ever seen; one an iridescent teal that would put the brightest ocean to shame, the other a beautiful honey-gold that actually looks edible. My research with Hanji really was no joke when we read that the leader of the tribe was like that of a demigod, because I’m just about ready to bow and thank whatever being who sent this angel to Earth to bless my eyes.
He has golden brown skin just like his lackeys, and a chestnut mess of hair cascading down past his strongly defined jaw. His dark skin completely contrasts with the white robes and royal red shawls around his petite, yet muscular, body. On the crown of his head is perched a golden band of ornamental flowers and vines with their tendrils looping together to form a shimmering headpiece that exudes graceful power. And goddamn, it complements his gorgeous fucking eyes so well.
Speaking of his eyes, they’re looking at me like I’m a troublesome toddler in need of a scolding. They show no particular sign of malice, just irritation and pity- even worse.
There’s no need to tie me down, boys, I’ll just save you the trouble and off myself right here right now just to get that goddamn look off his face.
The angel turns to Beefcake #2 and apparently whispers and order for him to go back outside because next thing I know, it’s just me and pretty-boy-god-enchantress-man having the staring contest of a lifetime in this dusty ass hut.
How am I, you ask? Never better why is that even a question...
I’m too young and hot to die.