Some Fan Fiction...

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Some Fan Fiction...

Post by acsempronio on 5/26/2011, 7:57 pm

Waking up on the beach with no recollection of how or why, the morning sun glared through half-opened eyelids.

With no tools or means but his bare hands, he began taking inventory of himself and his situation: shirt, shoes, pants. Trees, sand, dirt, rocks. A pig and a chicken. A cow moos.

Shelter, water, food; these are the things he needs. Immediate shelter was perhaps unnecessary as the weather was mild and, other than shade from the sun, nothing seemed to be immediately threatening to him. Water seemed plentiful, but the vastness made him think 'ocean' and ocean water was as good as no water at this point. A quick taste; fresh? The water was without salt! He realized, though, that he didn't feel thirsty. To be safe he'd stick close to the coast. Food. A pig and a chicken. The cow moo'd again.

Considering the options, the chicken was the easier meal: small, weak, and flightless. Later, with at least a sharp stick, a pig may be the next option. He considered his condition and decided he wasn't all that hungry either.

Visibility was limited due to the hills nearby; it might be prudent to get to the top of one and assess the landscape.

The sun sat a few hours above the horizon. The wind was light from the south.

That's not right. It's easily been less than an hour, yet the sun climbs as if in the extreme latitudes, and the coast means the wind should be westerly, yet the water is fresh, so this location isn't on a beach coast.

Given the sun's rapid approach to zenith, building a shelter may not be bad idea. And in the dark, one is likely to be eaten by a grue.

Step one, find wood. Trees were plentiful but with no tools, getting wood would be difficult. A small enough tree can be split by hand. The sun passed the mid-day mark. A cow moo'd.

Hands to tree, limbs were removed but the foliage fell easily. Fine: enough sticks can be workable. Gathering sticks was a daunting task. The minor limbs seemed to be few and far between and the sun was beginning its twilight departure.

How could the sun be moving so fast? It was already getting dark! He kept what small amount of wood he had gathered but found it useless, there simply wasn't enough to create a shelter.

Drastic methods would be needed.

He began digging out an alcove in the side of a small dirt cliff with his hands. The sun had set and already new sounds were heard: rattling, hissing... moaning?

He dug faster and faster. Hands bloodied and raw, he crawled into the small opening and pulled the remaining dirt around the hole he had created. He left an opening for air and visibility.

Sitting in the dirt hole, he cradled his useless hands and felt what he thought might be bone at the knuckles. This was terrible: he was lost, but from where, he knew not; he was injured; and the noises he heard earlier were closer. A tear formed, and he wiped it leaving a smear of bloody mud on his cheek.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. calm down, keep it calm.

uuuueennnngnggghhhhhh... the moan had a face... a wretched, disfigured face, incomplete of parts. Decay and rot filled the air... and a hisssssssss....

What the?

Feeling the cramp of the space, he flew through the opening, with the flight response kicking in, he ran as fast as he could and the hissssss....

BOOOM!

The noise was deafening and the concussion knocked him, lurching him forward in his path. He stumbled and fell. Looking back he could hear nothing but saw his foe approaching, bleached and thin... too gaunt to be human even. It looks like...

WHAM.

It was dark.

Day two.

A lifeless body lay upon the shores of an unidentified beach. His only witnesses: a pig and a chicken, wandered through the sand. A light breeze blew to the north.

The sun crawled across the sky and the body laid, as a sundial with an arrow, cast a quickly moving shadow upon the sand.

Nearby, a cow moo'd.

acsempronio
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