That Same Old Story

by The Historian

A Strange, Snowy Place

New life does not mean being free of aches and pains. I can tell you that much, at least. My entire body felt like it was stitched together from pieces, moving slow and haggard rather than tight and controlled. Like a well-used bionicle whose joints moved when played with rather than staying in place for posing.

My heart burned, my legs ached, and my arms were limp, but I somehow managed to reach a sitting position, the pain only half as bad as it had been on my... accident. I leaned slowly into the nook of a tree and collapsed to a sitting position, the pain too unbearable. All I could move was my eyes, and my thoughts, without everything going insane. And what I saw was... magical. In its own way, at least.

The snow was uniform, no tracks at all, and the trees kept their leaves despite obviously massive snowdrifts. All was quiet, and my breath let out puffs of white that slowly faded into nothingness as the seconds went by. This was winter. Not the crappy, controlled winter of planet Earth, but that strange tasting, smelling, feeling winter of this strange new world I'd entered. One of primal goodness and calmness. It felt at peace, filled with many different landmarks and objects.

The craned tree, seemingly bent ninety degrees and soaking sunlight from above in a clearing. The notched oak, an oak that seemed to have dozens of notches along its trunk as it rose. The ghost tree, a leaf-less white monstrosity that seemed to look like one of those flapping advertisement guys, tubular with two arms (branches) outstretched.

A full land of beauty. Was this heaven? But my thoughts were quelled as I moved a hand to my face, my arm's musculature screaming at me. No, I thought. This is just a rest stop on the long road.

Of course, I wasn't sure, but I had already had my energy sapped by death and strenuous movement, so my body simply slumped for awhile, my head comfortably resting against my backpack's cushioning as I drifted into a fitful sleep, the pains of movement regularly awakening me, and the dreams attained besides were no more comfortable.

---

The red generator grew fanged teeth

It roared louder than ever before. A drone that pierced your eardrums and made blood drip down the sides of my ears. I screamed but no sound came.

Lightning bolts rippled from its sockets, burning away limb after limb, until all that was left was my head.

Another scream, little more than a gurgle this time. Wind unafflicted by vocal cords.

Its sockets look like eyes. Blood red, angry.

Its teeth envelop me. I feel the blankness and the pain.

Every dream is the same. Slowly gaining in terror.

---

I awaken sweating. I try to move and the aches are lessened, but only so much. Walking is a discomfort rather than a blinding pain, and I manage to climb off the ground, leaving my backpack as a marker. Instinctively, I reach for my phone and tap the home icon. Somehow, travelling through universes, it managed to survive with a full charge. Well, to be specific, it's charge count is reading a sideways eight. I unlocked it and tried connecting to the internet, but to no avail. Starting up Pandora, though, blasted out some dubstep beats that echoed loudly in the empty forest. I squelched them immediately. Youtube, too, seemed to be functional. My wikipedia app was even on. The clock said 6 AM, and from the looks of the sky it seemed to be accurate.

But I wasn't in a place to question that, as my stomach rumbled. I briefly wondered if this new world was even capable of supporting human life. What if nutrients were less plentiful, or an entirely different base protein was used that left me unable to eat anything. But my thoughts were allayed by the fact that my phone seemed to have an infinity charge. If that was the case, then, it shouldn't be an issue to find food. I dug into my backpack quickly, looking for my leatherman, and set to work soonafter.

Bits of bark here, some dry twigs after, a few logs from craned tree's branches, and I had my first fire going. A good way to mark the route back, and to cook whatever I caught. A branch about hand's width around was a good catch, and I used the Leatherman's knife to quickly scrape out a spearpoint, using the fire to blacken it and make the sharpness a bit more permanent. That done, I started off into the woods, little more than a spear and a multitool to guide my way.

It'd be a few hours: 'till around 10, before I found my first creature. A four legged brown creature, it certainly reminded me of many others of its kind found at home. I wasn't the best thrower, but this creature wasn't as attentive as your average deer, so that wasn't an issue. I crept slowly and steadily behind it and made it clean. A strike to the back of the neck severs the medulla and ceases brain activity quickly -- nothing like Anatomy class to make you a cold and calculating murderer.

A fireman's carry allowed me to hoof the monster back to the fire, where I began the disgusting task of gutting the monster for food. At the least, the cold environs would make things somewhat more bearable in regards to bacteria. In fact, the corpse didn't even begin to smell or seemingly have any issues. Almost as if the world was too clean for even bacteria to be an issue.

And it wasn't as if I was cherrypicking, either, it was simply that almost everything had a sort of "magical" quality to it. Like it was too happy, too clean, or otherwise through the filter of a twelve year old's mind. Lines seemed sharper, almost like they were shaded, and made the environment that much easier to discern. It was strange, and that night as I cooked the deer's meat over the fire, I stared into the lifeless eyes of it, seemingly unchanged.

I started digging it a grave the day after. Filled it in by noon. Couldn't bear the sight of an un-rotting corpse, flayed and all. It made me more disturbed than I had been dissecting cats in A+P. And that said something.

Food taken care of, I began my lean-to experience by scraping off tons of bark and other items from dead trees, lining sticks along the sides of the craned tree, and covering those with the bark, creating a little creche inside this space. Protected at the top of a small hill, future rains would runoff outside, rather than into my sleeping spaces.

As the sun high above began its descent, I slowly stowed the meat I'd acquired, using leaves of undead trees to wrap them individually to keep the smell from attracting animals. I'd heard some sketchy roars, almost like that lion at the end of the old cartoon network shows. But as night fell, fatigue replaced caution, and I collapsed into sleep.

So ended my first day in this new realm. A place that felt, in all five senses, different from the Earth I had grown up on. The air had a new 'taste', the sky a new sheen, the sun a strange brightness, and the snow a different texture. Everything smelled off, and yet the noises were the most normal as can be, and the deer tasted much like any other from earth. Looked that way, too.

But as survival mode kicked in, altruism and introspection fell by the wayside. It would be a good while before I wasted my time with trivial pursuits: not when there was food to stockpile and a place to fortify. Because as I slept that second night, in between nightmares, I heard the howls and screeches and cries of a world still very much alive, even in this cold.