Ralph

Back again, and since such a long time. I love how I keep forgetting about my blog, and coming back to it with renewed hopes, only to find myself in the same state of disappointment two months later. Nonetheless, here's a new short story I started working on. It's still in a very premature age, but I'd like to hear your thoughts on it. Now I know there are still mistakes in it, but I'm a very disorganized and young writer and I simply couldn't be bothered to go through it again. Shoot me.

Ralph peered through the mail slit in his front door as he tentatively caressed his own left hand. It was an old habit he picked up during his junior years and never felt the urge to unlearn. He enjoyed stroking the smooth skin on the back of his hand as he gently fondled with the slender bones lying underneath. Sleek streaks of cloud were lazily edging across the pale blue sky. The sun was high in the sky, glaring down relentlessly on the already dehydrated earth. Everyone apart from Ralph had their sprinklers out on the front lawn in a desperate attempt to sooth the grass’s suffering. Ralph did not really care for grass. Ralph did not really care for anything except for a few simple pleasures he gained from life. One of these pleasures was spying on his neighbors through the slot in his front door.
Ralph lived in a two story suburban home his parents had once owned and in turn passed along to their only child after being raped and murdered by a group of black kids who were still in high-school. The boys were found at the scene of the crime; however they were excused of the crime due to lack of evidence. So is life. Ralph wasn’t really troubled by the turbulent string of events. It was during a hot summer evening that he had heard the news. Two bulky police officers with equally stern faces had visited Ralph’s residence to pass on the terrible news. After patiently and rather peacefully hearing the two police officers out, Ralph showed them the door, persistently reassuring them he was going to be alright and that he needed time to think. The moment the two men were squeezed out the door, Ralph ran upstairs to his parents’ bedroom, undressing as he went along and letting his clothes lay where they fell. Once in his parents’ bedroom he stood still in front of the closet mirror. There he remained inspecting his own naked body and eventually losing himself in his own eyes until six in the morning. That night Ralph was reborn.
Ralph held no grudge against his parents’ murderers; in fact he was actually quite glad they had freed him. Ralph’s parents had been role model parents, providing their only son with a strict upbringing combined with much love and affection. They had made sure Ralph did well at school and respected his classmates. They had made sure Ralph got a job when he was fourteen so he could earn his own spending money. They had provided him with good advice and supported him in any way they saw fit. The only problem was that Ralph didn’t need all these things. All Ralph really needed was to be free of any kind of interference, so he could truly let his true personality come out and flourish.
Ralph’s parents had not only left him a house in a respectable neighborhood, but they had left him with a generous fortune. The day after Ralph’s parents’ demise, Ralph stayed at home, where he would remain the rest of his life. Ralph knew that the days following his parents’ death he would have to deal with certain people in order to receive the money coming his way and he did see the people he had to see, but only on his turf. Everyone, even the mortician, was paid a wealthy sum to come visit Ralph at home to discuss the details. Within a week every single matter had been dealt with and the funeral had been held. Ralph insisted on having the funeral held in his own backyard. His money made sure it happened. During the entire funeral Ralph had watched from the second story bathroom window, silently stroking his left hand.
Ralph still thought of all these things now as he peered through the mailbox. He enjoyed pondering over the death of his parents. Even now, twenty-four years after it had all happened. Sometimes the thought alone would bring tears of joy to his eyes. Ralph’s vision was suddenly blocked out by a monstrous mouth lined with jagged yellow teeth, and his hearing was deafened by the shrill bark of a small dog. Ralph let a low guttural gurgling sound escape his mouth as he stumbled back, falling on his naked buttocks. One of his nosey neighbors had dropped by to check up on him, even though he had never opened his door for any of his neighbors the last twenty-four years.
“Ralph? Is that you? I know you’re there. I just heard you say something. Betty! Down girl, down! Come on Ralph. It’s been an awful long time since anybody has laid eyes on you. I can still remember what you looked like, but you must have changed an awful lot. Is that what it is darling? Are you ashamed of the way you look? You shouldn’t worry about such things darling. I’m sure you’re still as handsome as you were, even though you are well into your forties by now. God darnit Betty! Stay down! I know you don’t want to talk to any of us, but I never thought you’d stay in there this long. I bet we could help you, if only you just came out. Wouldn’t you just come out darling?”

Along the forest trail

Dear readers,

Yet again I fallen under school and work pressure, so that my blog has yet to be updated. Well I have a treat for you. I'll keep this intro very short so you can use your time to read the short story I have ready for you.

Take a look at it and tell me what you think of it. I always enjoy reading your thoughts and ideas.

Along the forest trail
by Levi Blokdijk

William Swoon glanced over his shoulder, keeping an eye on his nineteen year old brother, Patrick, who was trotting along behind him. Usually, he would be walking beside him, his hand holding that of his younger brother so that he would not wander off. Shortly after birth Patrick had been diagnosed with a severe mental illness, causing his, and especially William’s, everyday routine to be all but simple. The only form of speech that Patrick was capable of was producing low guttural grunting sounds that were nowhere near the sounds normal people made. He walked with a horrible limp, and could only do so for a limited time before he tired out, and eventually just sat down on the ground, moaning in a low whiney voice. To make his limp and possible downtime worse was that Patrick had the strength and build of an ox. He stood over two meters tall and had the shoulder width of a professional rugby player, making it impossible to physically restrain him, or get him on the move again, be it necessary. It was impossible to judge what was going on in Patrick’s mind, only Patrick really knew, however doctors had given the Swoon family a vague description what might be going on behind the twisted mask of confusion that Patrick had been wearing as a face since the day he was born. The doctors suspected Patrick’s mind to be functioning at the same level of a one year old baby. His state would not improve, they could be positive about that much.

These attributes added up to a task only an elder brother could handle, or at least that’s what William’s parents liked to think. The prominent problem with Patrick was that once he set his mind on something, there was no stopping him. After years of guiding his brother around the neighborhood, bringing him places and just keeping an eye on him at all times, William had discovered the trick to keep his brother calm and collected was to simply prevent anything from happening before it had to start in the first place. If William noticed a large puddle his brother would most likely start rolling in, he would steer them in another direction far before his hind sighted companion would notice. If William registered a kid playing with a brightly colored ball, he would distract Patrick with a biscuit, or any other treat he had on him. William always ensured that he left the house with a pocket full of goodies for Patrick.

     They were strolling along a narrow forest path, which was barely wide enough for one person, let alone two, which ran through the large area of woods behind their house. The two young men were on their way to their grandmother’s, as they always did on Wednesdays. Their grandmother, still quite youthful, took over William’s responsibilities for a few hours every Wednesday afternoon. What made the deal exceedingly prosperous was that their dear grandmother took over William’s task every Wednesday of the year, without exception, for as long as William could recall. Because William had guided his brother along the path countless times before, the journey was slightly less stressful. William didn’t suspect his brother of being capable of recognizing things or buildings, but he had a feeling Patrick felt more comfortable in the forest, where there were hardly any people to distract him. It was a warm mid-summer morning and sunlight was pouring through the treetops, creating a similar effect to that of a disco ball. Patrick was overwhelmed, his usual vacant eyes now bursting with life as they darted all over the forest floor, obviously intrigued by the millions of spots of light that danced on the forest floor. The distraction caused Patrick to slow his pace, so William stopped, maneuvered around Patrick, and starting walking behind him so that he could gently nudge his brother along the path. It took Patrick some getting used to – he kept peering over his shoulder with a profound look of disbelief on his face. Each time William urged his brother along, Patrick would respond with a nasal grunt. William knew, from previous adventures, that Patrick didn’t really mind, but that he was just playing with him. He could see the smirk on his brother’s face each time he turned his head.

     The young men were in a hurry, well, William was in a hurry. Patrick was never in a hurry for anything. Why should he be? William thought to himself as he looked at his watch. It was already close to quarter past eleven in the morning, and there grandmother was expecting them at noon. The journey took them a bit over two hours, if all went well that is, and they had left at ten in the morning. William didn’t enjoy being late for his weekly appointments with his grandmother, because every minute he was late was deducted from his alone time. And every minute of William’s alone time was vital to his sanity. William wasn’t fond of hurrying his brother along, but if it meant he could spend time alone, then it had to be done. Another thing William didn’t like was thinking of his brother as a burden, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself from labeling his brother that way. The idea would just slip into thought from time to time, and there was nothing William could do about it.

     Deep in thought, William pushed Patrick a trifle too hard just as Patrick was stepping over a root protruding from the damp earth. Patrick started to fall face forward to the ground, his arms swaying back and forth like a cartoon character would swing their arms when on a ledge. William reached out to grab his brother, only succeeding in lightly grazing Patrick’s shoulder as he fell forward. There was a thud and Patrick lay sprawled, face first in the dirt. The momentary freeze of William’s thoughts was accompanied by the physical barrier to move. For a brief moment he felt utterly terrified, unable to apprehend what had just happened. The hope of ever arriving on time had been shattered by his absent-mindedness. He felt the bonds loosen and he knelt beside his immobile brother. By now he should already be squealing like a pig William thought to himself, but Patrick was strictly silent. He didn’t make any sound at all. William gently placed his hand on Patrick’s left shoulder. ‘Patrick, hey Patrick’ William whispered. Nothing. ‘Patrick, come on, is everything alright?’ He knew Patrick couldn’t understand what he was saying, but the way he said things could soothe Patrick from time to time, just like the words of a trained dog owner could calm down a dog. Was he unconscious? Was it a game he is playing? Is he going to hit me? The different scenarios rushed through his head as he kept trying to roll his brother’s massive body over on to his side. 
His brother’s face started moving. He was slowly moving his head around so that he could look at his brother William. His nose was bleeding and his face was caked in mud. William could see small pools of tears forming in the corners of Patrick’s eyes. He was now completely sure they wouldn’t make it on time, they would probably arrive two hours late. A sharp feeling of dread grabbed hold of him.
‘Don’t worry William, everything will be alright in the morning,’ Patrick said in a completely normal matter-of-fact voice.
Alarm bells went off in William’s head. It felt as if his head was going to explode into a million pieces. What had just happened?
‘P-p-patrick, w-w-what d-d-id you j-j-just say?’ No response. ‘Patrick, did y-y-you j-j-just say? If you c-c-can, do it again!’ squawked Patrick, his voice rising as he ended his last sentence. Patrick had never in his life spoken a single word, and now he had managed to produce a perfectly clear sentence. This might change everything. Maybe Patrick could be taught to learn how to speak. Maybe there was a certain way of activating Patrick’s brain, making him capable of doing all kinds of things. Maybe I could be the one to teach him, I mean, why not? William’s thoughts were running wild again. No time to stay put here thinking about all of this. William would have hours to figure everything out, as long as he got Patrick to his grandmother’s house. He managed to get a grip on himself and started to yank on Patrick’s arm, which didn’t prove to be necessary. Patrick had already started to get up on his own. At first he just stood there, staring at the dirt on his clothes, arms and legs. Then, after grinning at William he headed down the forest trail they were on. William needn’t have said anything to get him going. He had done it all by himself. This was another thing that struck William as unbelievable, but he was keeping his thoughts under control, knowing that his mind would be clearer and more capable of thinking about everything when he was alone. William followed his brother down the path, feeling a new man.
The pace they were walking at had improved immensely during the following ten minutes. Patrick’s usual over obvious limp was now hardly noticeable. Am I imagining all of this, or is it really happening? Nah, it can’t be. I clearly heard what he said, and now it’s even like he never had a limp. What a miracle. William could feel his thoughts wandering, although he knew he should just stick to the task at hand. The thing was that Patrick was making his task so much easier now that his thoughts could roam freely, to a certain extent. Patrick didn’t seem to be distracted by all the different plants around him, nor did he seem bothered by the sharp light that was still falling on the forest floor.
It was now a quarter to twelve and they were within a short distance of their grandmother’s house, and the end of the forest. Soon we will be home. Soon I be alone. What? That doesn’t make any sense. It must be all of the action. Action man, yeah those were wicked. Stop it. William’s thoughts felt like they were falling apart, as if his mind was on an expedition, exploring itself. Stop it, damn you. We have to reach grandmothers. Then you can think. Focus. He managed to silence his thoughts, focusing on the back of his brother’s head. Minutes later they started up again. Sunlight good. Very good. What? Butterfly! Butterfly! Fly on the air. What’s happening? Leaves… leaves… leaves the head. Stop it! William had started shaking. He had a very bad feeling about all of this, as if his whole world was morphing around him and there was no possible way to stop it. His feet kept doing their work though. Make it to grandmothers. Everything be alright. Perfectly fine. Yes. Yhhheeesssssssssssss. STOP IT! The distance started becoming larger and larger between the two young men. William’s feet had started to feel alien, as if he wasn’t the one giving them the messages to do what they were doing. As he looked down at his feet he could see his light foot slightly turned inwards, making it more difficult for him to keep up. From his feet, he peered up at Patrick, who was now at least ten meters away. Slow down. Downwards. Stairs. Hairs. Pairs. Wow! Rabbit! Ha-ha! Rabbit go bounce bounce. William stopped dead on the path, staring at a brownish rabbit which was bouncing along parallel to the forest path. Patrick ahead. Moving away. Rabbit. Fur. Bouncy. Must catch it. Play with it. NO! Follow brother! Make grandmadders houws. Catch up to bradah. William’s eyes were darting between his brother and the rabbit. A warm sweat had broken out all over his body, drenching him. Patrick was now already out of the forest. William could see that he had stopped. His face, barely visible, pointed straight at him. William had stopped looking at the rabbit, now drawn towards his brother’s eerie gaze. Patrick was smiling. Bastard. Help me. I wwwant ouwt of this. Help. Help. Help meeee Patwick. William collapsed to his knees, still only capable of looking directly at his brother’s face. Only seeing the smirk little smile on his face. Gawd Paaattricckkkkk… helppppppp… miiiiii… Mi no undrrrstaanndd. William collapsed on his side. The sight of Patrick’s awkward smile still burnt into his membrane as he slowly closed his eyes. And then everything went black.

Patrick woke up in a hospital bed. He had had a very vivid dream, but he had already forgotten nearly almost everything. His head lulled to the right and he tried to bring his left arm up to his mouth, which were dry, but found out that it was impossible. Duhhhmmm ugh ugh. He thought as his vigorously tried to move his arms, and then his legs. Sparks were going off in his head, sparks being sparks, for they could not be called thoughts. Impulses would be a better word for them. Duuhhmm durr arrhh ugh.
‘Ah, good, you’re awake. We were afraid you wouldn’t wake up. See, you’ve been asleep for over two days. Your parents have already gone home,’ said the doctor standing next to Patrick’s bed. He was wearing a long white coat, with his credentials on a simple plastic card which was stuck to his coat pocket. He was holding a clipboard with all of Patrick’s specifics on it.
‘Urgh! Durmmm! Bluuhhh!’ proclaimed Patrick, now looking up at this new figure.
‘Well, I’m afraid actual speech will be impossible Patrick. Personally, I don’t think it will be any use telling you what happened, but your parents insisted on me telling you about what happened three days ago, and I am a man of my word. Now, listen, or just lay there, and I’ll tell you what happened.’
‘Ugh? Graghhh’
‘Three days ago, you and your brother William were walking through the forest directly behind your house. Both of you were on one of your usual trips to your grandmother. Halfway along the path something happened, well, something triggered you to do something. Something horrible. Apparently, you had picked up an awful large rock and you proceeded to cave in your brother´s head with it. You murdered your brother, Patrick. A hiker found the two of you, both covered in blood. Your brother was lying face down in the dirt. You were lying next to him, on your back. Your entire arms were covered in blood and you had them behind your behind. The person who found you said that there was a strange smile on your face, and the police confirmed this when they arrived at the scene. After examining you at a hospital, the doctors concluded that you had no physical damage on your person, and thus sent you here. Your new home. Now, I know you don´t understand, or probably don´t even remember doing it, but as I said before; your parents insisted on having me tell you what had happened.’
‘Uhgh mmmrrr’
‘Now, I’ll be back later. I see that you are still a bit weary. Goodbye for now Patrick’ the doctor finished. He replaced the clipboard and swiftly left the room, leaving Patrick staring at the ceiling with the corners of his mouth trembling, as if he were trying to hold back a smile.          

My absence

Dear readers,

During the last months I have been busy teaching, working, attending classes, and various other daily tasks. What makes my current situation all the more frustrating, one of my various college classes has forced me to create a second blog - one I post journalistic pieces on, which I am required to do for class. This has caused the current neglect I am treating my blog with.

I still enthusiastically write fiction, and this seems to be the only place I can truly put it out there for others to read. In the time of my absence I have written a few short stories. Some better than others, but that's hardly relevant. I will post these stories shortly, and various journalistic articles for the people interested.

Point is: I'm incredibly lazy, and it's something I plan to work. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll descent into madness, brought on by a profound feeling of self dissatisfaction.

Be patient and you'll all have something to read during the upcoming days.

Quick intro for my new novel (if I ever get enough time to really start on it)

My name is Thom Greenson, and I have found reason to start the telling of my tale, if I were to be bold enough to call it a tale. There is no specific reason for me to even be telling it in the first place, nether the less I feel the urge to do so. Listen, if you will, to the story I have to tell.
I am currently twenty-four years old. Most people would call me a young man in the prime time of his life. Time seems elastic and everlasting; for me there is no end in any near future. The days drift by, leaving me with nothing more than mere memories, for there is many a day to dawn, and possibilities are endless. Why dwindle on the past when anything could happen the next day? Carefree one might say, but that isn’t quite precisely how I would describe it. My life is different. The memories of past events come back each day to haunt me, sometimes leaving me clueless, filling my mind with despair, trying to figure a way out. I remember things being different, when I was a younger man. Recollecting the exact age is difficult. Things seemed to change so swiftly, it was like somebody had pressed the fast forward button on the remote control of my life, fast forwarding it to current time. I can watch the film, an autobiographical film, but all the frames, my memories, are sped up. Pinpointing an exact date for when things started going wrong would truly be an impossible task.
To tell a tale, one must start somewhere, otherwise the tale wouldn’t ever be able to be started. Therefore, my tale starts at home, or what was home at the time being, when I was a young twelve years old. My parents and I were living in a two bedroom apartment in a town called Brigdeton. It was a small town, with no more than five hundred inhabitants. We lived in a house above the local, and only, grocers. Mornings were accompanied by the strong scent of baked bread.  

Thom's tale will be about all of the frustrations of teenage life, and certain events in his life that have had a largely negative effect on his life.

Let me know what you think, and whether or not I should continue along this line of thought. I have left it in it's true form, without correcting any mistakes. I just want to give you guys a general idea of what I'm working on. I'll be posting my other idea for a story soon.

The sad story of a writer

Spring has just hit the Western shore of Europe. The days are long, and filled with a lot of drinking and smoking. The wonderful weather combined with a ton of school work has left me with very little time to work on my blog. I'm very sad to be saying this, for one of the things I love most is writing. Whether it be horrible, bad, or even good at times, I enjoy it. I have been working on  a novel believe it or not, so I will hopefully be posting the first chapter of it soon. Now, I know some people wanted to read the second part of 'Desert Tales' and I will be finishing it some time soon, I just don't want to give myself a deadline for it. I more or less just lost interest, which is a shame. However, I WILL finish it.

Delayed

Hello followers,

Circumstances have delayed my continueing of 'Desert Tales'. I have been pre-occupied doing a lot of school work and regular work to pay the bills. The second part of my 'Desert Tales' should be out by the end of this week. I hope you can all wait!

Desert tales

The long stretch of desert highway was covered in sand. The wind was sweeping it up, playing with it, and then letting it fall in what looked like a pre-decided pattern. I had been staring at the same desert wasteland for hours, and I had fallen into a trance. It was as if I wasn't perceiving everything that was in my line of vision. My thoughts were wondering off like children after a hectic day at school. I just couldn't follow any line of thought. I was very much aware of my grave situation. The problem was that I just couldn't care about it. I remember feeling this way when I was a small child. It was as if my body and mind just had enough of a certain situation and therefore decided to stop functioning. There were times I thought I'd never come back from this state of being. The actual thought usually awoke me though. It wasn't working now. I felt I was getting close to a panic attack, but I still didn't move or start thinking about a solution.

Reese had been a good friend of mine for as long as I can remember. I remember going to primary school, teasing girls and licking at dripping ice creams. I remember skipping high school to go out back and smoke some of Reese's cigarettes he had nicked from his mother. I remember our last day at high school. I remember Reese's first, and last, girlfriend. I remember a lot of things, but not how long I had actually known the guy. Quite funny really thinking about how long I had known Reese while his corpse was rotting on the same desert highway I was standing on. His shirt had been torn off and I could see the fresh wounds on his upper body. The flesh hadn't started rotting yet, but in this horrid desert climate, it would start rotting sooner before later. The only piece of clothing they had left on him were his boxer shorts, which were stained with all the bodily fluids a post-graduate could imagine. He was lying face down on the road, his long sandy hair scattered across his sun tanned neck. His blood had dried within an hour, and flies were now drinking up the small puddles that were still relatively liquid.

I had just sobbed for the first hour. After that I just stood there, staring my Reese's corpse. I just couldn't take my eyes off him. The was completely indulged by the horrific scene and I wanted to punch myself in the face for it. Here I was, staring at my friend's lifeless body and I was actually interested by it. I was startled by the, what seemed to me like, sudden setting of the sun and I snapped out of my trance from hell. At first I just glanced around me. Then I started to think. There was nobody to be seen close to my position. No cars had passes in what had to be hours. Resources were minimal. My throat had been parched by the relentless sun. I greedily grabbed my canteen and gulped it down. I started to feel a bit better, then I realized that was the last of my water and my mood sank to an even lower point. I checked the contents of my pockets. I was carrying a cell phone that had no battery connected, two lighters, some loose change and a pocket knife. I discarded the change and pocketed the rest of my belongings.

Reese only weighed about eighty-five kilograms, but hauling his body to the side of the road felt like a whole day's hard work. I knew the right thing to do would be to bury him, but I also knew that it would cost me another hour or two. I needed to get out of this place as soon as possible. I had stayed far too long. Religion hadn't been something Reese, nor I, had ever cared about, so I just gave his body - which was now face up - one last look and then I started heading east. Following the highway would be a foolish thing to do, so I veered off and walked through the rough sand instead. I did want to keep the highway in my sights, so that I could spot any oncoming traffic. I couldn't care about what was coming from the west, because what I was looking for had headed east.

The desert had starting cooling off after the sun had set. My flannel shirt and jeans would keep me warm enough for the coming hours, but I wasn't very sure I would manage so well in my current gear closer to midnight. The wind had picked up, which meant my tracks were being covered by a fresh layer of sand. I had this much going for me. Walking in the desert had worn me out. My body was starting to ache all over. The horizon hadn't changed. There were small bushes throughout the desert, with the scarce small tree. How they survived in this god forsaken climate, I have no idea. Apart from the minimal vegetation, there wasn't much to see. Except there was something to see. About five kilometres in the distance I could see a cloud of sand lifting. A few moments later I could hear the roar of a V8 engine. Something had discoursed from the road and was heading in my direction. I froze, and my mind started racing. They had seen me, there was no other possibility, they must have. Time appeared to slow and I was in an enlightened consciousness. There was nothing on my left, and on my right it wasn't much better. The only cover I could find was a strange rock formation about two-hundred metres to my right. Without hesitation I bolted for the rocks. The sound of the car's engine was growing dramatically louder. All the sounds in the desert seemed to be amplified by the lack of natural sound. It was a pick-up truck - the same pick-up they had brought me and Reese out into the desert with - and three men were standing in the back of the truck. Before I realized what they were holding, they opened fire. The roars of their semi-automatic rifles was deafening. Rocks near my feet exploded into a thousand bits and the dust flew in my face. When I fell to the ground, it felt like something had grabbed my leg and pulled it from underneath me. A pang of pain forced its way up my left arm and I tried to scream, only my throat was too dry to create the right sound, and my scream came out like the cry of an infant. There was a tremendous burst of sound just above my right ear and I was sure my eardrums had popped like freshly baked popcorn. My vision was filled with what looked like chimney smoke, and then it filled with a fabulous bright orangey-red colour. When the smoke lifted, there was no pick-up truck to be seen. What had replaced the truck, at three-hundred metres, was one of the best things I had ever seen. The best way to describe what I saw was to compare it to a plain crash. There was a large hunk of twisted and scorched metal. Scattered around the hulk were smaller bits of metal. The only colour I could make out besides the dark colour of scorched metal was red, the colour of flames and bloody human flesh. That was the last thing I saw before everything went black.

I had awoken from what felt like the worst dream I'd ever had. I tried to open my eyes, but everything stayed dark. My nostrils flared and I could smell something that was like a mixture of wet fur and rotten meat. The place I was lying in smelled of decay. My vision was severely impaired by the lack of light. There was a dirty mattress beneath me and a glass of, what looked like, clean water. I gulped it down and got to my feet. I hit my head on the ceiling of what seemed to be a cave of some sorts. Whilst I stood there cursing, a door opened and light burst its way into the dark and damp cave. There was a silhouette of a man standing in the doorway.
"Follow me if you want your revenge," grunted the man. He then turned around and walked back outside. Who was this man and how did he know I was after revenge? Had he seen what had happened? Was he the one who had saved me? These were all questions I asked myself, despite already knowing the answers. Sometimes intuition was too strong to be ignored. I vaguely recognised the man as well, which made the whole situation even more abstract. The man had saved my life, so I might as well do as he says I thought to myself as I walked towards the door.

When I stepped outside the desert sun hit me like a freight train. I had been out for at least one whole night. This was bad, very bad. The man who had presumably saved my life was sitting on a chair smoking a cigarette. He looked as if he didn't care about his surroundings, and that sitting in the middle of a desert was the most casual thing to do.
"W-wh-who are you?" I uttered. He turned around and stared at me. "You know who I am lad." He was telling the truth. I knew exactly who he was. He was the one responsible for Reese's death. I broke out in an intense sweat. My arms and legs started shaking, I wasn't sure how long I'd still be able to stand. I'm done for, I thought to myself. This is the end.
"I'm sorry for what I did to your friend, but you have to understand if I didn't do it then they'd just kill your friend themselves after finishing me off. I had to do it. At the same moment, I did come to my senses and I started planning the plan I've recently set in motion. I'm planning on taking them bastards out, every single one of them, before they can continue what they're doing, and you're going to help me. That is, if you want to of course." He had said this in a voice that was not quite a whisper. I resented the man in front of me for what he had done to my best friend. I did believe every word of his story though. It was one of those clear moments when you are just one-hundred percent positive that somebody is telling the truth.
"I could tell you more about how I ended up joining the guys you've previously met, but that would just be wasting more precious time we do not have. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I g-g-guess so." My voice still hadn't fully recovered and I couldn't help coming across has a stupid kid.
"Ok, first things first. Let's get armed, then we're heading off east. Follow me."

To be continued...