Stone walls were around me. Cold air. Stale smell. All of it was familiar. There was a low hum coming from the other side of one of the walls. Vibrating. Whispering. I remember standing there, clenching my fist and shaking. The hum was growing. The wall was shaking. I was ready.
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I've forgotten most of what happened. Starting with how I got here in the first place. My head was killing me. Throbbing. I couldn’t think clearly due to the thousands of thoughts racing in my mind. My body was in pain. My spine felt as if it had been stretched out then put back. The ground felt rough. Rows of farmland. There were some trees in the distance, and a house. A barbed wire fence surrounding the field, ending at a gate by a dirt road. There were birds, tweeting a song here and there. The sun was high in the sky, the only thing in the blue. Even though the sun provided some warmth, I felt cold.
Maybe jeans and a t-shirt weren’t the greatest option, I thought standing up. I patted my back pocket, hoping to feel my phone but nothing. Panic. I groaned, hanging over. There was a slight tingling in my lower back. I can’t just stand here, and wait for someone to find me.
I was running. The fields were zooming under my feet. Where was I running? Home, most likely. My memory was foggy- like a bathroom mirror. There were bits and pieces of what I remember, and pieces that didn’t make sense. A puzzle. All I wanted was to know where I was. Maybe the house over there might have some answers.
The gate was left open, welcoming those who dared to go forth. It hung there in space and time, much like a string holding onto a paper weight. A new world. I ran past it, squeaking from the rust on the hinges. Needs some oil. The house was nothing special. The white paint was on the outside was crackling from time and ware. Bricks were surrounding the base, much like a fundamental building block. Dry, dead grass. Worn down windows with cracks. The house seemed to be stuck in time- a wood wheel leaning against the house. A stone sidewalk leading towards the wood carved door.
If I knock, will somebody answer? I peeked through one of the windows, seeking for movement. Nothing. It was silent. The spring wind was blowing, rustling the apple tree leaves. I groaned. Where in the hell was I? Why isn’t anybody here?
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In town was Mr. Tom Hanger. An old man. Sharp, witty blue eyes. Grey brown hair. Strict. He was standing inside the Olde Liquor Store. Leaning against the wood counter, he spoke with a strong accord. Wearing tan slacks, heavy black overcoat, and top hat. Ancient, some said.
“The old man by Sicking Road is speaking gibberish again.”
“Third time this month, eh?” The bartender said, wiping down the wood tables. He was a blonde. Dressed in a black vest over a white button up and black jeans. Stood loosely.
Mr. Hanger shrugged. “I’ve lost count.”
“What’s he talking about now?” The bartender asked.
“The same old stuff he always talks about. Just yesterday he said something came falling from the sky. I think he’s just telling these stories to get attention. He’s always the attention hogger around these parts.” Mr. Hanger glanced off into distance, grasping the only reality he had left. Everything else seemed like a blur. Continuous blur. Never-ending.
“Did you hear about that Burt guy, who invented the typewriter?”
“Huh? No, I haven’t.”
The bartender chuckled, setting the just freshly glass down. “I got a letter from my sister saying she got one. Very slick and not cheap.”
“I would guess so since it is a first time invention. Anyway. I have to go. Have a good evening, Hank.”
“You as well, Tom.” Mr. Hanger waved a hand, walking down the same road home.
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I was growing bored. Or incredibly annoyed. I did see some kids running around earlier, wearing knee shorts and cloth dresses. I was going to ask them where I was, but knowing me, I don’t do well with talking to people. Especially younger kids. Besides, they looked busy enough- didn’t want to disturb their “jobs”. Little wood wheels were beside the houses, green and dying grass in the front yard for the kids, and a creek running through the valley. Quite peaceful. All of it boring.
Maybe I could just break into the house, I thought. The sun was getting lower and lower in the fading afternoon sky. It also meant it was getting colder and colder. Breaking in is my only option at this point. Anything besides that, is a myth or reality.
I picked out a smallish stone to throw through one of the windows. Heavy but not heavy. Light but not as light. I steadied myself, putting my throwing hand back and before I could even make a prediction of where it might land, I felt a strong hand wrap around my wrist.
“What’d you think you’re doing, mister?”
So maybe rephrase that!
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