To understand why Allister once held fear and disdain towards automobiles, one must first remember that Allister spent a substantial amount of years secluded with the mountain men of Borneo. When he saw the sign; a boar whose tusks had become stuck in a tree and whose feet kicked like it was still running, thereby sending clouds of dirt into the stream babbling behind it; he left the mountain and the mountain men early one morning, as they slept. He left them a note, scrawled in the dirt outside of the camp, realizing only later that the feet of woodland creatures as well as the wind and various other natural conditions could very well leave his note illegible. This would mark the last time Allister scrawled anything of emotional importance in dirt. He carried himself down the mountain and never looked back. There would never be a reunion between him and his mountain friends. Letters would never be sent. Scrawled dirt messages proved impractical in seemingly endless ways and transportation and delivery of said messages fell in that same category. Allister would have to rely on his memories, which due to a serious fall in childhood became forever lodged behind his gall bladder.
It was thus that Allister cleared the last branches of brush and was hit from the side by the iron beast. He lay unconscious and unattended on the side of the rugged mountain road, assumedly the first hit and run victim recorded in history. When he gained consciousness, he was unable to piece together what had hit him. Like all respectable men, he swore vengeance. But unlike those men, he harbored deep fears of the beast whose skin shined like the shields of some indestructable army. Part of him begged the other part to go back to the mountain men. The other part, always rational, knew this was not a possibility. The lodged boar had been seen. The message had been scrawled in dirt. He could never return. He collected himself and walked cautiously down the road to the harbor. It was here that civilized society resided and here, too, that Allister planned to board the next ship out of Borneo. The harbor seemed also to be the territory of the shielded beasts as herds of them grazed along the shore.
He had never seen so many. Truthfully, he had never even seen one in clear vision. He readied his hands and, without much thought to how, moved to-one by one-break each and every steel neck. But, not before he felt the familiar steel skin ram into his back and send him into unconsciousness again, assumedly the second hit and run victim recorded and the first victim to be hit twice. When he awoke this time, however, he was being tended to by a young doctor and two good samaritans who knew little of proper first aid, but frantically moved about as if they wish they had. Allister woke just as the young doctor's open palm was about to collide with Allister's face. The doctor exclaimed, "There you are!" Allister asked, "Where am I," even though years later he would recount to me that he knew very well where he was. Nonetheless, the young doctor answered, "Borneo. You were hit rather maliciously be an automobile. The driver was apprehended and you, my friend, are very lucky. I cannot even find a scratch. Do not worry, though. Justice will be served and I would not be surprised if the driver were hanged for his actions. We take things very seriously here in Borneo." Allister was not sure if he was still a little dazed or if he was just that curious. But, he glanced past the possibility of someone being put to death and immediately asked the origins of this automobile. What followed was a fascinating tale of pistons, gear shafts, and tires and Allister was forever changed. He never learned of the outcome or the whereabouts of either of his assailants, assumedly history's first two hit and run drivers.
It was thus that Allister cleared the last branches of brush and was hit from the side by the iron beast. He lay unconscious and unattended on the side of the rugged mountain road, assumedly the first hit and run victim recorded in history. When he gained consciousness, he was unable to piece together what had hit him. Like all respectable men, he swore vengeance. But unlike those men, he harbored deep fears of the beast whose skin shined like the shields of some indestructable army. Part of him begged the other part to go back to the mountain men. The other part, always rational, knew this was not a possibility. The lodged boar had been seen. The message had been scrawled in dirt. He could never return. He collected himself and walked cautiously down the road to the harbor. It was here that civilized society resided and here, too, that Allister planned to board the next ship out of Borneo. The harbor seemed also to be the territory of the shielded beasts as herds of them grazed along the shore.
He had never seen so many. Truthfully, he had never even seen one in clear vision. He readied his hands and, without much thought to how, moved to-one by one-break each and every steel neck. But, not before he felt the familiar steel skin ram into his back and send him into unconsciousness again, assumedly the second hit and run victim recorded and the first victim to be hit twice. When he awoke this time, however, he was being tended to by a young doctor and two good samaritans who knew little of proper first aid, but frantically moved about as if they wish they had. Allister woke just as the young doctor's open palm was about to collide with Allister's face. The doctor exclaimed, "There you are!" Allister asked, "Where am I," even though years later he would recount to me that he knew very well where he was. Nonetheless, the young doctor answered, "Borneo. You were hit rather maliciously be an automobile. The driver was apprehended and you, my friend, are very lucky. I cannot even find a scratch. Do not worry, though. Justice will be served and I would not be surprised if the driver were hanged for his actions. We take things very seriously here in Borneo." Allister was not sure if he was still a little dazed or if he was just that curious. But, he glanced past the possibility of someone being put to death and immediately asked the origins of this automobile. What followed was a fascinating tale of pistons, gear shafts, and tires and Allister was forever changed. He never learned of the outcome or the whereabouts of either of his assailants, assumedly history's first two hit and run drivers.
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