The strange old man looks at me critically.

"Do you know what's going on, Will Cassidy?"

I swallow uncomfortably, "I think this is hell."

My words echo as the stranger turns his back to me.

The smell of roast meat and the crackle of wood-fueled fire permeates the air.

The ache in my stomach reminds me of how famished I am.

Unconcerned with me, the old man stares into the flames of his small fire.

"Hell," I hear him mumble.

He hasn't refused my company, and I sit across from him. The fire warms me pleasantly.

The meat he's cooking is some bizarre little creature. There's too little for him to share.

The smell drives me crazy. The longer I stay here, the more deranged my mood becomes.

Thoughts of stealing from the old man stir in my consciousness. But I strive to keep them in check.

I watch as the man takes the morsel from the fire and tastes it.

I obsessively watch each swallow.

Sadly, only bones remain to be cast into the fire.

"What's your name, sir?" I ask through my envy.

The man is cautious in his answer, "Michael White."

I nod, and with a forlorn heart, stand up. Unsure of my sanity the longer I stay here.

"Good luck, Mr. White."

"Will," I hear from behind me as I walk away. My transit stopped.

I look over my shoulder and ask, "What?"

The old man is hesitant.

"Please, don't go."

I turn back to the man who didn't even share his meal. I feel some anger grow within me.

"Why?" is my question.

"I-" the geezer looks lonely. "I can teach you how to hunt the rats."

I find myself torn. A part of me wants to try to make it on my own. But this old man might be able to help me.

I nod and return to the fire.

"Can you show me now? I'm starving."

The stranger smiles with relief and stands up.

I can't measure time as I learn how to scare the rodents out of their hiding places and pierce them with a spear.

My earlier assumption of this place being mostly lifeless proves incorrect as I hunt the relatively massive rats.

Sometimes, the targets will charge me with ugly teeth, and I must kick them away.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Where are they all coming from?" I wonder aloud.

Michael wipes some sweat from his brow. "It doesn't matter. They're vermin."

I shrug, unable to refute his statement.

The fruit of our labor leads us back to our campfire.

Despite his ability to build a fire, Michael leaves the work to me.

In no time, we are roasting meat I'd never thought I'd be eating.

"Do you think we're in hell, Will?"

I look over the flames, Michael's eyes tunneling into my own.

Locked into his gaze, I say, "It's not heaven."

A smirk takes the wrinkled man's features. "No, it isn't."

"Still," he persists, "I'm not sure I'd call this hell."

"Hmm?" I hum.

"Well, there's no fire and brimstone. No devil to torture us."

I nod my agreement with some reservations.

"Well," I ask. "What else could this place be?"

The aged man scratches the back of his head. But, says nothing.

At some point, while watching the flames, I slip into a warm slumber.

No dreams haunt me as I rest. Even in my apartment, I couldn't sleep so contentedly.

Inevitably, my eyelids tremble as I fight to awaken.

The fire died, and I discover the absence of the old man.

I feel some alarm as I watch the shadows of this hazy world.

I'm tempted to call out for the man. But I'm unsure what else might hear my voice.

The shadows show signs of a departure. Perhaps Michael chose to move on without me.

I'm caught between a desire to find the only companion I've had in this desolate wasteland, that was once a city, and return to my home.

Ultimately, my desire to find Michael wins out over my caution.

As I follow in his wake, I wonder what suddenly drove him to leave me.

My hometown passes before my eyes. Every shop and residence is falling apart.

But then, something new meets my eye.

A purple light positioned like a street lamp illuminates the surroundings.

Not only does the light serve as a beacon, but I note a change in the surroundings.

Everything the light touches seems protected from the rot that permeates the world.

I'm stunned as I come under the purple light.

A foreign-looking building casts orange light from its windows as if waiting for me to notice it.

My mouth drops open as I realize that people are inside.

With haste, I pull at the door and catch the hint of sulfur in the air.

Inside, lamps emit a warm orange light.

A few eyes look up from their business to note the stranger.

Scanning for Michael is fruitless.

The building seems neither primitive nor advanced. But one thing is apparent, it's a bar.

I approach the bar with renewed confidence.

The bartender clicks her tongue as she looks me over.

"You're a newbie," she says with disinterest.

"Uh," I stumble. "I guess you could say that."

She sighs. "And, you don't know how this all works."

I sheepishly nod my head. "Is there some currency I can find to pay for a drink? Like a reward for running a quest?"

For the first time, the woman smirks.

"I think you're misunderstanding some things," she says. "We only deal in memories. If you want a drink or a night's rest, you will have to give up parts of your past."

I recoil in alarm at her words.

"What use do you have for memories?"

She looks at me like she's growing irate.

"Buy a drink if you want to ask questions. I don't have time to waste on someone without a tab."

I'm torn. If her words are true, I could lose a part of myself.

Still, curious about the process, I nod my head.

"Which spirit would you like?" she asks.

"Spirit?" I echo. "Uh, whatever you recommend."

She nods before pushing forward a transparent crystal. "Payment up front."

As if looking at a venomous serpent, I slowly reach out.

When contact is made, I see my life flash before my eyes.

The crystal requires me to choose a suitable memory.

I never thought I'd be able to judge my own life like this.

I make my decision, the name of my P.E. instructor from when I was younger.

It only takes a moment for me to return to the world, the payment settled.

I watch as the bartender mixes my cocktail with substances unrecognizable to me.

With an orange twist as a garnish, I receive the drink.

As I sip at it, the woman makes something clear.

"You see them, don't you?"

I look in the direction she indicates.

"It's the eyes that tell the story. Whether it be black, red, or white. When you lose everything of your past, your eyes will become like theirs. No memories of before left."

I turn away when I see a man's black eyes looking at me.

My drink tastes more bitter than it had a moment before.

"Why," I repeat my question from earlier, "do you want memories?"

She's silent momentarily, "Memories remind us of what it was like before. There are many memories to be made here. And, that's how the colored eye people get by. But, living memories are a luxury worth more than gold or silver."

I feel somber at her words.

"Still," she says. "Isn't it worth giving up insignificant memories for one of my drinks?"

I feel myself chuckle as the taste of the drink improves.

Ultimately, I give up some more memories. And my circumstances seem unchanged.

The offered bed grants me security from the abyss beyond this establishment.