Sour Salty Orchestra

When beasts attack the surface of the Earth, humans are forced to flee and hide underground, unless they are looking to become a beast snack… sour or salty.

**************

This story was originally published here on Medium if you so wish to read it there.

**************

This story was created by first taking the names of one song and four bands, and then doing a play on each name, quite often making it the opposite of what it originally was. Can you guess which spots include the one song and the four bands?

**************

My father was in the Sour Salty Orchestra. He didn’t know this at the time of joining, he only found out once the beasts attacked.

He was in the middle of a performance when a two-story tall beast burst through the wall and began picking off people one by one, devouring them whole. Each time he ate one he stated how they tasted.

“Sour.”

“Salty.”

“Sour.”

“Sour.”

“Salty.”

The entire strings section was labeled sour. Most of the woodwinds were salty. The French Horn got no complaints.

My father was the only one to escape that building with his life. He was crafty. He ran when he needed to. He hid when he needed to. That’s how he stayed alive on the surface for so long during The Beast Times.

The entire world was under attack. Everyone retreated to underground lairs, or they lost their lives. My father was the only human who still roamed the surface. Him, plus a chipmunk. The chipmunk joined him on his fifth day of traveling the surface. The chipmunk had learned German in preparation for The Beast Times that many prophesied would happen. He thought it would be helpful. He thought German would be the language to learn to be able to communicate with people.

Unfortunately, my father didn’t know a lick of German. Only English. And enough Spanish to be able to order food at something called a… ristorant. But my father was determined to converse with the chipmunk… the chipmunk with my father. My father learned some German over the next few weeks. The chipmunk learned English. They conversed in fragments. It was enough.

My father knew that humans wouldn’t last under the surface for too long… at least… not in any healthy way. Humans needed sun and fresh air. The beasts were completely dominating the surface. They were scooping everyone up and eating them. Destroying buildings. Crushing cars. My father hoped to be able to find a reasonable beast. One that he could barter with. One that he could level with.

Day after day, my father and the German chipmunk kept encountering angry beasts that were eating people up. The people who were trapped on the surface in cities and unable to find access to underground lairs. None of these beasts would listen to reason.

Eventually, after 12 weeks, my father came across one of the beasts that seemed older, smaller, and slower. My father took the opportunity to communicate with the beast. To reason with him.

My father told the beast how he and the humans wished to live on the surface. Even if only in a small portion of land, they would need the land, the fresh air, the sun, if they were going to survive. The beast did not want to give up any of the land that his kind had taken over. My father continued to barter.

He offered to give away Monday as a gesture. The beast liked this. Formally the beasts had no days of the week. Now they would have one. This is how we humans came to have six days of the week. Isn’t it funny that we used to have seven? What a laugh that must have been.

The beast agreed to take Monday, but said that the humans could only dwell on the surface during the times when the sun was out. The rest of the time they had to return to their underground lairs. My father agreed to this. It was a fair enough deal.

The beast led my father and the German Chipmunk to a nearby city with a known underground lair called South Sun. The beast and my father delivered the news to the humans who lived below the surface. There were about 180 people there. They were thankful.

This beast held up his end of the bargain. He informed other beasts, and they did the same. The news spread across the world but not all the beasts wanted to give in to this request. So, they didn’t.

In these parts the beasts left the humans alone. But all across the world the beasts continued to ravage underground lairs and steal humans away in the night. They ate them for their meals. They turned some of them into a solid-liquid mixture which they spread on their very favorite snacks… tree bark bits. Some of the humans they killed and turned into stools to sit on. Others were turned into snot rags. The beasts had massive issues with snot.

My father stayed in South Sun since it seemed to be one of the safest cities on the planet. The German Chipmunk did the same. This is where my father met my mother. And this was where I was born. I wasn’t the first human born underground in South Sun. I was the last one. After a while, the humans began to just stay on the surface where the beasts stayed. My father continued to barter with them. The resources found underground were very valuable. He traded with the beasts for extra time on the surface. Eventually, my father had bargained the humans to have full-time status on the surface.

I grew up and had a normal life for South Sun standards. Eight square meals of food a week… three square meals of dirt. Couldn’t complain.

Many beasts around the world continued snatching up underground humans and eating them, killing them, turning them into things. Some of the beasts that lived near us evolved into being kind. They began to take the humans to live in their homes with them.

A few weeks after both my parents passed away from The Dirt Cough, a beast told me he was taking me in to live with him. He had a beast lady. The two of them called themselves my parents. It was strange… because they weren’t. But they took good care of me and gave me more food than I had ever dreamt of. It was a nice life.

They sneered at the other beasts around the world killing my kind. My kind meant… the humans that looked like me. They were okay with other humans that didn’t look like me being killed. They didn’t find any issues with that. I think the beasts may be a thing that is called racist. But I am not sure because I only ever heard my parents use the word when I was listening in quietly from my dirt room. I never quite got the context of how to use it.

Anyway, my racist beast parents continued to love me and feed me and clothe me. They named me Dirty Giver because no matter how much I washed, I still had a stink about me apparently. And I always found presents to give them. It was a nice time. I loved them. They loved me. They continued to say all humans who looked like me shouldn’t be harmed, but I am fairly certain I saw a couple of times that they had brought home other humans to eat. They did it in secret. Hidden in areas I couldn’t access. But I am fairly certain they ate humans that looked different from me.

I wondered why they found reason to treat some as food and some as family. I was lucky I was considered family. But what did I even do to deserve it?

Sometimes I miss eating dirt meals. My new parents don’t let me eat that. They think the dirt is bad for me. But I am fairly certain it has good nutrients in it. And something called vimatins. At least they’re looking out for me. Or they think they are.

**************

If you enjoyed this story and want to read more of my work, then please come check out my website where I post all my latest work, plus you can even subscribe for updates!