Deserts, Wanderers and Headless Monkeys

[RoughWriters]

This particular Writing Excuses comes courtesy of the Writing Excuses Podcast:

It was a simple 10 min. writing sprint with this prompt: A man stumbles through the desert and is aided in some way by a headless monkey.

[glen]

It was a lack of water, I thought. No one goes around seeing headless monkeys, not if they’re sane.
But there he was, standing on the top of the nearest dune, looking down at me. I gasped as I stood in the shade of the dune, trying to catch my breath after my day of endless wandering. But now I wondered if my wandering days were, indeed, over with.
It waved—obviously it couldn’t speak, it had no head. But I swore that it waved. And what could I do but wave back.
And then it just stood there and looked at me. Well, technically it couldn’t look at me, it had no head. But it faced me at least. I guessed that it was expecting something from me. And so I spoke finally.
“Pardon me, Mr. Monkey, but you seem to be missing your head.”
He continued staring—facing me—as if I had just stated the obvious, which of course I had.
“Uh, you wouldn’t have any water on you, would you?”
The monkey didn’t move, but continued to face me.
“Hello? Do you speak English? Of course you can’t. You’re a monkey. You’re a headless monkey. But you already knew that.”
No response.
“Well, I know that you can’t speak, but maybe you can point me in the direction of the nearest water hole? Oasis? Encampment?”
It was then that the monkey turned and pointed to the west. Normally I can’t tell east from south, but I remembered that the sun set in the west, and that’s where it was headed right now. I started in that direction, happy to know that I had an answer. But then I stopped.
How confident could I be in the directions of a headless monkey? Had he ever seen said encampment or watering hole? Maybe he was jealous of the fact that I still had my head, while he wandered aimlessly through the wilderness without the benefit of eyes or a pie hole. Maybe he had sworn a vendetta on everyone who wandered through desert. Maybe he had once been like me, lost until his head had dropped off from lack of water, and his body had shriveled until it was the size of a monkey’s.
And then I thought the other way. Who was I to doubt this monkey? Had he ever steered me wrong before this?

[Sarah]

The desert air floated and cushioned the man as he traversed along the rocky landscape of the Gugavan Desert. This place was unlike anything he had ever experienced. But, to be perfectly honest, all of Gugava had been unlike anything anywhere, and this man had been everywhere. The blood trickled down across the rocks as he stumbled across them barefoot. He was numb to the pain that kept shooting through his feet, well almost numb. Why he had ever gone through with his hair-brained scheme was beyond him. He wished his darling Ashvara had talked him out of it. The jerkin he wore slapped against him in the wind. Suddenly, he heard a noise. He stopped and listened closer. It sounded like an owl, but there are no owls in the desert, are there? Then again he would almost be surprised at nothing after this experience. He noticed a shape in the distance that was moving towards him at great speed. It looked like a bird. However it wasn’t a plane or superman for that matter. As the shape moved closer he noticed it had no head. Not he really was going to be surprised at nothing. As it drew closer he realized it was a headless monkey that could fly. The animal picked him up in its large talons and swept up into the air. He flew across the desert for what seemed like mere moments, but was in reality hours. He realized the headless monkey thing was flying him home to Ashvara. As they drew closer to the border of Gugava and Jakaba the man looked up at the monkey and said “thank you, kind friend for the aide you have given me.” Then the monkey did the most unexpected thing as they crossed into Jakaba. The monkey set him down safely swept itself up into the air, looked down and said “You’re welcome Cuecolat.” Cuecolat Monvara looked at it in shock.

[Edward Cheever]

“Dear Lord, I've gone mad,” said general Hanover.
The headless monkey danced before him with his furry little arms outstretched, holding a divining rod.
Hanover pushed himself up from the sand dune he'd collapsed into and rubbed grains from his eyes. He looked again, but there was the same headless monkey, dancing.
“The heat must have taken me.” Hanover mourned. “I'm dreaming, sure as sure. I'm probably asleep on this very dune, dying. That or I'm hallucinating. They did warn of this sort of thing in the general reports... Look at me, I'm talking at a bloody headless monkey.”
The monkey slowed its wild dance to extend the divining rod out to the stranded general. Hanover stared flatly at the exuberant monkey for a moment before shrugging, brushing the sands off his uniform and standing up. Well, mirage or not, I've nothing better to do. Better forward than backwards they say.” He stretched out his hand and took the divining rod from the monkey, who clapped happily once its hands were free.
“Well, the bloody thing feels real enough, I suppose,” murmured the general. The stick was weightier than it appeared, and it was made of some strange wood he wasn't familiar with, though little was familiar in this foreign land.
“Well, stick,” He said sarcastically, “Lead on.” To his great surprise the stick gave a sudden jerk off to Hanover's left. “Ho!” He cried. “What the devil...”

[Scott]

Since I already had his paw the monkey was indebted to me for its return. My final wish had been for it to lead me out of the desert. Only now as it disappeared and reattached back to his headless torso, I knew the true horror of the Monkey Paw. We were fools to keep pieces of the daemon monkey for our own benefit. At the precipice of the sink hole, I knew the monkey had kept his word, and led me out fo the desert. There was nothing but sand for miles, yet the pit I stood over was technically out of the desert. What a fool I’ve been! To trust a headless monkey with unspecific instructions. “Save me!” I’d cried, “Take me out of this accursed desert!” And so he was bound.
Now he wandered into the haze of the dunes, off to reclaim his head from Mr. Dasherbald. When they had divided it among themselves, Ms. Clingowitz was the first to go. She’d asked for fame, and was shot in a bank robbery. And as we in turn took out wishes, we learned the monkey couldn’t be trusted to our best interest. Mr. Freud had taken the torso of the monkey and asked for the secret to human desire: He was then cursed to only see the way people looked at each other, their wants. And in England, he was quite the laugh around the pub.

[chelseye]

James stumbled once again over his untied shoes. The aglets were long gone and the laces were shredded, making it impossible for them to stay tied. The sand under the traction-less soles didn’t help much either. But he trudged on, hoping he’d come to the oasis soon. The sun beat down and James had stopped looking up long ago in fear his eyes would become worse. What he would do for some food. It had been three days since his last meal and his canteen had been dry for the last 15 hours. At night he froze under the threadbare blanket he had tied about his waist. Why had he agreed to this anyway? His idiot brother who laid dead a week’s journey behind him, that’s why. If he had enough saliva he would have spit. What good is $1000000 going to do you now Jack? Huh? Glancing up briefly, James saw a black speck on the horizon. Another mirage most likely. But as he stumbled on, his nose testified to the existence of something concrete. His heart stopped as he realized they were buzzards up ahead of him. Is this my omen of death? He questioned himself. But common sense took over and he realized he at least had 2 days left before dying. So he kept trudging along. The birds would move and he could walk by. As he got closer, angry glares were shot his was by the disgusting animals. Their bald heads glinted in the sun and their stench was almost unbearable. But they moved as he came upon the scene. Not thinking about what they might have been doing there, he kept moving until he stumbled upon a small figure. At first, he had no clue as to what he tripped over, but looking down, he realized it was the body of a monkey. The head was gone, probably already down the gullet of one of those nasty birds. Has it really come to this? Am I willing to eat a monkey to satisfy my hunger?

[betanine]

Stumbling along through the desert for days and still no sight of water. The water bottle was almost empty. The stuffed-toy monkey had made for a good insulator, even if it was a morbid sight in the middle of the desert without the head.
Was that water ahead? His mind had started playing tricks on him yesterday. After a couple of runs into nothing, he had almost given up hope. Why was he here? How did he get here? Was this his home sometime in the future now ruled by intelligent monkeys? He hoped not. They might not take too kindly to the imagery of the decapitated toy. Without thinking, he looked over his shoulder, half expecting to see the Statue of Liberty sticking out of the sand. Nothing but dunes going on forever.
He turned back just in time for the world to tilt and spin. Something smacked him in the face, hard. He felt the wetness on his face. The loss of blood would only quicken his demise. But wait. Someone had to be here. Who had hit him? He thought back. Surely he would’ve seen him out here. And why was he not attacking again?
The reality of his wet clothes seeped into his consciousness. Water.