by Gold Baron
"OOF!"
That was the first word out of my mouth that I can remember. Spitting dust and sand, I sprawled on the ground for a long while, the sun baking me in this desolate place. But where was I? I tried to think how I got here, remembering the vase shattering on the corner table, a woman screaming. I reel back in pain as a shock travels through my mind, interrupting my thought. I must be mad. Why can't I remember before this moment?
I push myself into a sitting position, wiping the awful sand off my face; it's in my pores, I think. I still have that grit in my mouth, that sort of crunch when you put your teeth together. I spit on the ground.
"Welcome to hell," said a gravelly old voice, with a bitter edge to the words, like a bit of irony.
"Excuse me?" I turn my head around to face the speaker; he's silhouetted against the sun. I squint and put a hand over my brow like a sun shade. My voice sounds almost as bad as his, choking on dryness.
"You've been laying there a long time. I was beginning to think the vultures were going to eat you. But you seem all right enough. Welcome to Greendale. Not very green, is it?" He waved a hand around, and I finally realized I was on the edge of a small town, arranged around just one street, like in those old westerns. But where was everyone? Weren't these towns supposed to be bustling with prostitutes and drunken cowboys?
I turn back to the old man. "What time is it?"
"Eh, afternoon, I think." The man whapped me with his cane.
"Ouch! Hey, what was that for?"
"You look like one of them apples, all burnt red."
He was right; I was pretty badly sunburned, and it didn't help me any being prodded by some old man I didn't even know.
"Well, don't just stand there looking stupid. Come on inside before we both bake!" The man limped away to one of the small homes on the outskirts of the town, retreating under the covered porch and returning to his rocket, picking up a canteen and taking a swig. I was compelled to follow, and painfully made my way into the shade. "You must be pretty thirsty, have a drink!" he cackled a bit, but it was lost on me.
I greedily took the canteen and tipped it back, filling my mouth, and then sending it down, and oh did it ever go down! I felt as if a bomb had gone off in my stomach when it finally reached bottom, burning the whole way. I coughed violently, and the old man laughed, thumping me again on the back with his cane.
"Good stuff, eh? Ya lug nut, ya shouldn't have taken so much at once. Hmm... Not very bright, are you? Strong, though; stupid but strong, they like that. None of them are the sharpest tools in the shed, if you follow me."
I took another swig of the awful concoction in the canteen. I had no other choice to rid myself of the burning in my throat. It obviously didn't help much. "Who's they?"
The man thumped the cane down between his feet and set his hands on top. "Not from around here, are you? No, that's obvious, none of us are that stupid. Well, you'll find out soon enough, I suppose, and they'll decide what to do with you." The man lifted himself up on his cane, and with a final chuckle, disappeared into the shadow of his door, leaving me on the porch, confused, dazed, and drunk.