For sight, as far as the eye can see there are 2 things; the mist... and trees. As far as what could be considered roughly 25 paces, there is only fog beyond that. Within that range is a single species of tree, keep in mind, there is no bark on them, they all look like someone came by recently and pulled off the bark. About 5 inches in diameter, they go into the ground with no discernable root system and go up into the mist above. Also, there are no leaves... or grass, looking up at the sky no branches can be seen, and the ground looks like a weird mix of ash with mostly mulch.
For taste... the air tastes like a thick mist, and as such is a bit hard to breath.
For smell, it smells like it's rained recently, petricore or petricove, either way the smell is an earthly smell. The aroma of which is very calming for a normal person after the nightmarish reek of a cannibal butcher's dream feast. Though the trees seem without scent themselves, the smell seems to come from the soil underfoot.
For touch, the dirt feels dirty, the mist feel misty, the trees feel... a bit pulpy, without their bark, and Rita is glad she at least doesn't feel cold... or wet.
Sound... Sound... oh the sound, of a repetitively winded... electronic, copper, thingy, somehow generating electricity by turning inside the emergency radio in a way she doesn't fully understand how. Accompanied by the crunch of footsteps, Rita manually charges the emergency radio as she has NOTHING better to do with her time, while waking through the strange woods, and thinking about life.
As unknown minutes turned into unknown hours she, a woman in her late 20s, with her hair tied in a sort-of bun, wearing a thankfully undamaged or dirtied plaid shirt over a simple white A-shirt with blue jeans and hiking boots, with a glazed over expression, insesantly crank an emergency radio as her soul source of normalcy, and admittedly entertainment, with far too many questions about recent developments.
Had I lived a good life... should I have stayed on my path as a Psychologist instead of taking a chance with Parapsychology on the rise? Was I wrong to refuse Wanda's confession back in 5th grade just because I thought her grandpa was a creep and I didn't have any desire yet for a life partner? Was I a bad person for accepting my roommates excentricities as they had in kind? Is Mary Weatherly even real? Where is Rita, and who is Rita? Should she have sold back all that camping gear for cash and laid low in my dorm for a week doing nothing but eating snacks while catching up on my shows instead of thinking she could camp somewhat leisurely while lazily person searching for a few days? ... Are her parents really proud of her for the work she's doing right now, trying to get a good job with Parapsychology, bothering real espers to see the future and trying to interrogate ghosts for what their average day was like when they were alive? Do THEY wish i'd accepted Wanda's feelings and stayed back home as a lesbian with 4 cats running that flower shop with her? How is flowers enough of a commodity or luxury that you can run a business that can afford you a car and a small house at 28? Should I have left with my little brother to explore Europe, and help find werewolves, to make a fortune sponsoring them into the modern age as mail-order spouses for furries instead of going to college? Is her current situation NOT a punishment by returning and or new gods for her lack of respect to them, their followers, and doctrines, have a lot other people been discreetly tossed into... whatever THIS is... why is me still not hungry anymore if she felt so starved seeing a field of open air rotting meat however long ago that was? What are these trees she doesn't recognize, where is she, have I been alone for so so long that thinking in the 3rd person like this is normal? Are some of these thoughts considered run-on sentences since she didn't need to breath while thinking if these were her actual thoughts running a mile a minute? Am I even actually walking forward?
Stolen novel; please report.
"Actually, no, for most of your questions, you're just standing there and speaking out loud more than you realize by the way." -A high pitched and slightly gravely voice said.
Rita jolted forward and tripped on her own feet, falling flat onto her chest, managing to turn her head so she landed on her cheek instead of her nose, with a grunt. In the fall, she unconsciously threw the radio, which sailed about 7 feet forward, missing the trees, and onto the dirt with a soft thud. From her prone position she scanned around herself with a slight daze before turning to look behind her as well, searching for the source of the voice.
"I don't know about the result of your choices if they were otherwise, be it your path, friends, or partners, but you shouldn't doubt your instincts, ever." - the voice continued.
Getting quickly to her feet she rushed over to the radio and plucked it from the ground and whipped the dirt off while turning in all directions. "HELLO, WHO ARE YOU!?" Rita was quite done with standing in terror, ready to bolt when she knew where the danger wasn't. With a soft chuckle the voice replied, "Dear child of man, fear not, for I have been sent by divine intervention and a friendly request, you DID pray to ISIS, did you not?" Looking around in confusion, movement caught her eye and quickly looked down to see, an orange cat. Staring at her with it's head tilted, sitting next to her with it's tail swishing back and forth, it meowed at her.