Braided vines were interlaced along the roof, extended sections hanging stiffly, looped around the handles of glass jars. Within the suspended containers were orange, glistening specks that illuminated the surrounding room with a pleasant glow.

Dark brown, wooden boards were lined up neatly along the floor, smooth yet matt, a byproduct of its age. As Lucas walked across it, his callused and wounded feet found a warm respite.

Just to his left was a simple table, sturdy and practical, with a single chair neatly arranged. On it was another glass jar, this time with red specks dancing inside. He picked it up, and the surface was the temperature of a warm shower on an exceptionally cold day.

On the other side, was a small bed tucked in the corner. Sunlight seeped in onto the neatly made blanket, which had a similar waffle-like texture to Lucas’ own cotton blankets. An empty shelf was fastened to the wall opposite him, just a little behind the table.

The room was compact, toasty and incredibly bare. Yet it was exceptionally clear that great care had been given to this place, for the door and floorboards had not squeaked once, and the levels of dust were fairly minimal. Lucas brought himself over to the chair and sat down, fearing that he would sully the bed with his muddy clothing.

He contemplated the viability of staying in such a place. It was way beyond what he had before, having absolutely none of the essentials for survival. At least now, he had shelter.

But he only felt a sense of urgency that had risen within him since he had first woken up. He had become acutely aware of the scratching sensation in his throat, his mouth parched, and he knew that it would only worsen exponentially as time went on. He ignored his growling stomach.

He concluded that surely, a shelter would mean that there was a water source accessible nearby. But where? He had not seen any stream that would point to the existence of a river, or any other water source for that matter, nearby.

The grass needed something, right? The clock was ticking, the riddle was waiting to be solved, and the grand prize was an uncertain claim to his life. If he wanted to win it, he would have to go now, whilst the sun could guarantee his return home.

But he didn’t know where to go. He had to guess, and pray that he was right. Would God answer him if he did pray? Would God even exist here? He decided against the religious pondering, that was work for the philosophers, the deep thinkers who had the energy to spare for it.

Lucas had never been particularly religious, but hell, anything at this point was worth a shot. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, attempting to pray to whatever was up there.

“Dear God. Or Gods. You probably haven’t heard of me before, and you’re going to be wondering who the hell I am. That’s fair enough, but give a stranger some slack.” Lucas paused and thought back to just before his encounter with the sharp-fanged creature. A mature, feminine voice had resonated in his head when he first came here. He recalled what it said, something along the lines of “may the suns guide my way, and along that path may I find peace and happiness-” to which he added, “and water and food, please.”

He couldn’t help but release a sigh of disappointment as he felt absolutely nothing around him change. It was to be expected, he supposed.

He decided to get going, the sunlight was only going to last so long and without that path or any other source of light, the darkness would be his demise.

Just past the back of the house was a steep incline. He began to head down it, after all, water doesn’t flow upwards. The slope was quite steep, so Lucas took slow, deliberate steps to ensure that he did not slip and consequently be unable to get up. As he reached the bottom, his feet sunk into the soil a little more, and each step downward he fought harder and harder to lift his legs up, coming out with a squelch each time.

Lucas froze. Squelching. Mud. “WATER.” he rasped, and frantically started moving downwards.

There it was. A pencil-thin area of still water. Flimsy and pathetic, but he knew that was only a small branch of a larger tree. He followed the growing reservoirs of water, heart racing with each stride.

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The squelching soon turned into splashes and now he was ankle-deep in a serene, miniature lake. It was dazzling light blue mixed with hints of cyan, clouds gliding across its surface. Lucas bent down, the water reflecting a hagged figure, with black, gristly hair and crooked glasses. It was unrecognisable to him. He cupped his hands and brought it to his mouth, carefully tasting it, before uncontrollably lapping it up.

He then submerged himself underneath, the cold piercing into him until he came back up, chuckling under his breath.

He cleaned his glasses and chuckled under his breath, as the pale sun dispersed the droplets of water that had clung to his arms. His shirt, which should have been drenched was only partially damp. God, huh?

His blood surged with exhilaration. He had beaten time’s silly little game and now he waded out, victorious. As he trudged back towards the cabin, he noticed that the ebony sun had begun to peek over the horizon and fatigue had begun to weave its way back into his body.

Back inside the cabin, hidden from the rapacious void-like atmosphere, Lucas was seated on the chair, his aching legs stretched out in front. He scrutinised each fold of his hand, segments of his palm ravaged with splinters. Cautiously, he plucked them out one by one, until they had all been removed. He took off the makeshift dressing around his abdomen and examined the wound. It had closed up and was now a glistening red, quite sore, but bearable. To his relief, it showed no signs of infection. He felt some semblance of satisfaction and brought the chair over to the bed, putting his glasses down on the seat. At long last, he laid down, pulled the blanket over him and drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Dreams for Lucas were a rare occasion, so as he plunged deeper and deeper into his subconscious, it came as a pleasant surprise that the theatre of his mind had chosen to put a show on for him.

None of the dreams that he could recount ever held any sort of profound meaning or really, any close connection to his life at all. No teeth falling out or being in public without clothes.

This time seemed to be no exception. Lucas was forced into the perspective of an infant, offering nothing in his state of vulnerability and helplessness as he outstretched his little hands to the perpetual blackness ahead.

He could only hear a single word, almost like an incantation, mama. It echoed endlessly.

Mama. His own?

Lucas heard another noise, a faint click. Thumping. Footsteps. Lucas felt his vision enter darkness once more, but this time, it was the familiar sight behind his eyelids.

A chill ran down his spine. For once, he was glad that he was a light sleeper.

But now, there was a very real person standing next to his “sleeping” body. He had come from a strange forest, and barely escaped from a savage, alien creature. The people here were surely not normal humans.

One word festered in his head, and he could not drive it out, no matter how hard he tried.

Cannibals. All those horror stories he used to read told him so. They were going to make sure that their prey was alive, after all, fresher meat is always more delectable. Afterwards, they would knock him out, and force him back to their village, tie him up and the other members of their people-eating tribe would perform a ritual. They would dance around him and light a fire underneath him. Perhaps they would boil him. Perhaps he would be rotated on a spit, like a pig.

His heart rate picked up, the accelerating rising and falling of his chest threatening to betray his awakeness.

The presence drew closer to him. If he did nothing, that would be his fate.

His eyes snapped open and he bolted upright into a sitting position, twisting his body awkwardly to face the intruder. The glass lighting illuminated the room with an orange hue. He saw that the intruder was a female, with brown pants, held up by a leather belt, and a white linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Curiously, her hair was a potent shade of dark purple, similar to Russian Violet.

He put on his glasses with one hand, and grabbed the chair with the other, attempting to lift it up and use it as a weapon. But she was a blur, grabbing the chair before he could and dragging it behind her.

He attempted to grab her arm, but in response, she used her free hand to twist his outstretched arm, causing him to tumble off the bed.

Lucas felt tears brought to his eyes as his wounded abdomen collided with the wooden floor. A lightning shock burst throughout his body and he lay there, paralysed in agony.

She leaned down, and he stared into her pale, ice-blue eyes, her face betraying no emotions. He attempted to open his mouth, to say something, plead for his life, but she brought a finger to his forehead, and he saw a dazzling purple flash, and then, nothing at all.