'tis my book, tell me how ya guise think
chapter 1 is short
Chapter 1
Memento Mori
It was a sunny day.
Not that it mattered.
There was not a soul on this road, which cut straight through what seemed to be a never-ending sand pit. The sides of the road were decayed and broken into cracks, some extending almost to the center of the road. There was an orange hue among the air. The only sign of civilization (other than the road) was part of an old wood fence that had bordered the road over many years that had succumbed to time.
A single person soon materialized in the distance, in danger of being enveloped by the ever-vigilant sun. It was getting over closer over the hours. This was a small soul, probably no more aged than thirteen or fourteen. He was very frail, black (African-American sounds too politically correct for my tastes), and had a large head of bushy hair, probably brought by many months of little to no care.
He was a smart one, one with a loveless life.
Eventually, broken down by days of hunger and thirst, he put down his bag, collapsed on the fence and promptly died.
Or so we would think.
Within minutes, something else materialized on the other side of the road. A dull white van pulled to the side of the fence. The window opens, a metallic barrel aims at the collapsed boy, and covers him in water. Just like you and me, nothing wakes up a person for good like a rude facial of cold water, which did exactly as you would suspect.
Rather irked, the boy rose to his feet and looked at his assailant. A girl of about the same age, with long, red hair and bangs and a pair of sunglasses looked right at him.
“How long have you been here?” asked the girl.
“How old are you? You’re sure as hell not old enough to be driving.”
“Is that the thank-you I get for saving your life?”
Realizing she was right, he took a politer turn.
“How did you find me? This road goes for hours with no sings of life for-”
She was not one to answer questions. “Get in the van.”
He promptly shut up, took his empty water bottle, and got in the van. The van started down the road. He decided now would be a good time for introductions, while the pavement purred on the wheels. “What’s your name?”
She paused for a long time, keeping her eyes intent on the gray, decaying strip in the middle of the orange she called the road. After a while, she finally answered.
“Miranda. But you wouldn’t refer to me like that if you knew what was good for you.” He was startled, so he was surprised when she inquired, “What’s yours?”
He kept his cool and gulped. “Rick James Astley.”
She held back a laugh through closed lips.
It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten that reaction, but that didn’t stop him from emitting a slight chuckle. He soon drifted to sleep on the cold but forgiving backseats of the van, or, at least, drifted off enough to not notice that the world was warping around the car. Seconds passed, and the car was engulfed in a storm of enigma and vanished, not leaving a trace on the road.
