I'm tired. I cannot get to sleep. I'm procrastinating. It is late at night and the only person I want to talk to at the moment is away somewhere. To be blunt, I'm not expecting this to be that creative. I am writing this to get my mind off things. It was originally a typical Pokémon journey but I changed my mind. If anybody does read this, I hope you enjoy it.
Maps and Atlases
You could call this a prologue. I'm in the process of chronicling past events that lead to where I am now. It began when I was fifteen.
Speak to me, it said.
I didn't comply. I was too scared. I didn't know where I was, or what I was doing. How I got here. Questions, possible answers, meaningless thoughts, all of these things passed through my mind in an eternity and in an instant at once. The voice echoed through my head, a fake, repeating voice mimicking three words that came from nowhere and everywhere. The real voice didn't speak again. I couldn't hear the voice again except in my mind. I was starting to think that I only ever heard the voice in my mind.
I spent a while pondering over what would have happened if I spoke back. Where I would be now. Where was I now?
The kind man in the desert
My clothes were filled with sand, my skin was dry and my body was aching. I opened my eyes as a large gust of wind came my way. Hastily I shut them, partially because my eyes were sensitive to the light after being closed for so long and also out of instinct - I was covered in sand, so the wind could also be carrying sand. Shielding my face with my hands, I opened them again and let light filter through the gaps in my interlocking fingers so I could adjust to the bright surroundings. When the wind passed, I drew my arms back to my side and tried to establish just where I was. There was sand all ahead of me, continuing so far away that it merged with the bleak, grey horizon. The sand was a light yellow colour. Almost white. I was sitting up, my back rested against a large rock that came out of the ground. It was brown, and it was the only thing I could see that wasn't sand in all directions.
It was safe to assume that I was lost in a desert. It was hot. I panicked, sweating not only because of the temperature but from anxiety too. I was alone, so I didn't speak for a long while. When I did, I was angry. I kicked sand and I kicked the rock, shouting out gibberish in frustration (I didn't know how to speak Common then). One of the sharp points of the rock pierced through a gap in the front of my sandals and made a cut on my big toe. I screamed in pain and sat down, applying pressure to it with my hands. It wasn't until this point, after all the yelling, that I realised how thirsty I was. I tried to conserve energy by not moving, despite the sun burning my skin. I tried to stay alive by doing stupid things, like swallowing my own saliva as if it would save me from dehydration. I got a headache soon after.
I almost died by the time the man got there. He was wearing khaki coloured shorts and tshirt, and a wide conical hat suitable for the surrounding environment. He was clearly elderly but could walk properly and seemed quite fit for his appearance. By this point I couldn't make out much at all, I was so exhausted, but he had a thin beard on his chin about the length of my index finger and light grey hair. He picked me up with abnormal strength and proceeded to walk with me off into the desert. I never doubted that the man had only good intentions. I was just so relieved to be rescued. I lost consciousness before the rock faded into the distance.