A foolish excursion
I wrote this in an hour, with minimal editing done to it. This was mostly just a test to see how I would do if I really tried, and I suppose it came out alright. I might try writing again but for now, art seems to be more of my medium than anything else.
Wandering. Deep into the woods, there would be no way in, no way out, and no way of finding any scarce trace of him, and the chances of anybody ever seeing him were next to none. His plan was simple and not very thorough, well thought-out, or particularly good, in any sense of the word. He felt that his time had come, and that nothing would stop him now, whether that might be time, other people, or death. Even in death he'd have his sanctuary, though those thoughts did not linger long in his mind. Survival was intended. Little did he know, survival was difficult. In the storybooks they say that the hero lives, no matter where he or she is. He, being the hero, of course, would live. Passing over and over through his consciousness like an annoying insect was that thought alone: I will survive. It it will be easy. Nothing stands in my way except for nature itself, and I will conquer that, too. Later, it was different. Later, it was night time. Later, he had no hope left, and he thought back on everything he'd said to anybody, about anything. Finally, he sleeps. Unrest keeps him from this, and keeps him just a little bit awake, so that even as he slept he got no rest at all. In that dark, dank, dirty place he slept, night passed, and morning came much too slowly. Noises. Bumps in the night. All came, and all went, leaving him shivering, teeth chattering, muscles tense and trembling. Morning would come someday, and banish that biting cold, staving away those gnashing picks that lance through his flesh, freezing him from what felt like within. Dwelling thoughts, as his mind had drifted to them, brought him no joy whatsoever, as he finally accepted the fact that he was lost, too. No way in, no way out, and no chance of being saved. He was awake, yet asleep. Unconscious, but with one eye open, and thinking conscious things. Howls keep him awake, though he was not, and they invaded his dreams with a temper, ripping him to bloody rags. A jolt, warmth, and he wakes up. The cold, suddenly silenced, no more howls. Morning, at last. Warmth, sunlight, and kindhearted rays beating down on his face in the best of ways. Warmth now granted, he finds within himself the strength to move on, and begin using what little knowledge he had about the wilderness, trying to put it to good use. Notable events, of what little there were, left him delirious, having had no water, food, shelter, or company for a grand total of one day now, revealing just how soft and pampered he really was. Stumbling and panting for air, a dazed heat passing through his body, the sun not so kind anymore, now beating him down harshly. The day passes too slowly and yet too fast, and it seemed that night was upon him again and he had done nothing for himself. Starving, drinking what he could of his own
bodily fluids.. A skeletal figure, built to frighten children as they dream of them. His face was sunken as the sun sets, and hopeless eyes peek out to watch with hidden grief and anguish. As the last sliver of sun resides, he falls, slumping to the ground quietly. Not even a leaf stirs, for he is starved as any would be in this situation.. Merely skin, and nothing else. Darkness comes over him, deeper and more controlling than it was before. The night passes instantly, and no feelings seem to greet him where he was. He would be put out of his misery by his own foolish ideas and plans. Family would look for him. Nothing would be found. Nerves can still sense a bump, as far gone as he currently is, too weak to open his eyes. Quiet grunts greet his ears, of a variety that are not human, and not anything he'd heard before. A large, smooth, leathery texture rubs over his shoulder. These, all of these, come as jolts that re-invigorate him to the point that he can indeed open an eye, revealing a dim, glassy, bloodshot orb. Piercing blue looks into even more piercing gold. He is not frightened. Whatever it was, would kill him soon anyway. With one last breath, he falls unconscious, set on receiving whatever new and cruel punishment he deserved to be the recipient of. Then, pain greets him once again. He hadn't cut himself, bruised himself, or injured himself in any way, shape or form.. Those same grunts meet his ears again. Bothering to open an eye again, he trembles, not of fear, but of hunger, and a lack of sustenance. It was a dragon. There would be no other word for what stood before him, composed of green scales, spikes, horns, and wings. A large creature to be sure, but smaller than even a rhino, and bigger than a horse. Somewhere between there. It seems that the capacity to wonder, to think, and to be afraid had returned to him, and life comes back into those glazed blue eyes. Yet, through all of this, he still cannot move. Forced to look at what he assumed to be a predatory creature, standing over him, fiery gold staring deep into his soul like nothing else had ever done. Its' nose emits a soft cloud of steam, and then it turns away, off to another place. He realizes that he is in a different place completely, that barren space he had collapsed in before hopefully far away from him, though he still had cricks just about everywhere in his body. "...No.... Wait..." A scratchy voice, to be perceived by anyone close to him as not his own, came from nowhere near where it should. It sounded as though it emanated from right behind his mouth, for the silence that ensued seemed confused, as did the creature who now had its' back turned, and its' head slowly turning around, to look at him with those large eyes once again. Why he spoke to it, he could not fathom. It was feral. No doubt it was no smarter than any other feral
creature, perhaps somewhere near the intelligence of a reasonably intelligent equine. English was most likely not it's strong suit. "...W-.. Water.." The same alien voice greeted his ears, incredibly quiet and weak to boot. A nod came from the Dragon as it left, without a word or noise. A look of defeated, tired disbelief lay on his face, as he sat up against the wall he was leaned against in the first place, presumably by the beast who had just.. Understood what he'd said? It understood him? The odds of this happening.. Any of this.. Were next to none, and now this was one in a million. He didn't know whether to consider himself lucky or unlucky, so he chalks it up to nought. Time passes. The sun sets. All is quiet, the woods silenced at his want, and he is restful, though still.. Out of water. Even his sweat has run out, and his need for something to drink, anything at all, is enormously large. Scrapes, bumps, scratches.. And it appears again, as green and large as before, with a bowl. A crude one, to say the least, but it was large enough to fit his head into, and most likely more. As it approaches he shifts slowly, moving his hands along the wall on either side of him, trembling like mad. It sets the bowl down, and releases the craft from it's jaws, then backs up. Looking up at the beast, he silently tries to count his stars, though as he looks up.. There are none. As the sun sets, he drinks. The water was absolutely wonderful. As murky as it was, it satiated his thirst, and made him the happiest creature alive. To be alive, to know he would live another day in light of his unfortunate mistakes, of which there were many, gave him chills up his spine. He attempts to smile, his cracked and split lips burning even through the water that coated them, and dripped off. Setting the bowl down with a dull thunk, he watches the water swish from side to side until it is still, then looks back up at the Dragon as it sits on its' haunches. "..Thank you.." That same stupid smile sat on his lips, though he felt like they were bleeding, and he discovers that his voice is already a little bit healed. "You are welcome." Aghast, he sits up more. That deep british accent was something that shouldn't have pierced the silence. It was a male. Was he dreaming? Finding that he was awake, and still in bad condition, the thought is banished from his mind, and the look on his face is obvious. The Dragon sits down some, and is, in it's current state, standing close to seven feet over his head, looking down upon him with those eyes. With a creature so mystical having presented itself to him, it's a wonder he hadn't thought of perhaps trying to get to know the beast a little more. "Do not speak. You are ill. Get some rest, and I will have food for you in due time." With this, the beast leaves again, just as
quietly as before, leaving him in his nearly drunken, awestruck stupor. "W-wa.." Hand raised, palm out to the skies, he beckons it back, to no avail. It is gone.