Last Man Standing

Grocery Run

“Where are you going? … X, Get back here! … Coward! I’ll have you terminated! … X!!” 

SPLASH!

A man shot up, evidently woken from his sleep. He had short, messy gray hair, with a ratty goatee to match the color. He wore a tattered red shirt and a pair of equally worn jeans. He had a pair of unnaturally vibrant blue eyes, and they dripped with tears. He gasps, wildly looking around. All he saw was the inner walls of his dark, dusty hut. It was made of a brown, patchy cloth and some rusty metal framework. The man put his head in his hands, shaking and yelling. Moments pass before he calms down.

He stands slowly, taking a better look around. He stood at an average 5 feet and 8 inches, and was an underfed 120 lbs. From the mat he was sleeping on, he could see everything in the one-room abode.to the left, a small desk and folding chair. The folding chair had a tattered duster slung over the back of it, with a large gash in the left tail. On the desk sat a few worn out books, all with dog-eared pages and noted pages. To the side sat a wrinkled folder, sealed with some wax. Lastly, there was a small, potted red and purple cactus. 

Moving on from that side, there was the entrance in the center, merely a hole in the hut sealed by a flap of the same fabric. to the right, there was a smaller hole, used as a window to let some light in. Though, the stars and half moon of the night sky were barely enough to illuminate it like the sun would. As he breathed, small puffs of steam exited. He reached to the side of his head and picked up two gloves. One seemed to be of plate and chainmail, and the other was simply black. He grabbed the gray coat off the side of his chair, and before leaving his hut, put on a pair of steel toe boots, with small ridges leaning toward the heel of the boot.

Luckily, the half moon was enough for him to see. The sandy dunes he looked upon were barren, save for a few cacti scattered about. He grabbed a metal-tipped sandboard and the pair of goggles that rested on it, slung the strap of the board over his shoulder, and began to walk forward. He came to the bottom of a dune, and dug his heel into it. The ridges helped move him along, with his feet barely sinking into the sand. Reaching the top of the dune, he brought the board to the floor, securing his feet to it with two leather straps. With a small nudge forward, he slid down the dune, riding the board to the bottom before strapping it again and continuing onward. This process repeated itself a few times before he reached the bottom of a particularly high dune.

As he climbed, he found himself accounting for the steepness with his gloved hands. He looked to the side, watching the sun rise over the sandy horizon. He reached the crest and sat, staring at the fiery red and orange mingle with the night’s purple and blue. The few wispy clouds reflected the light beautifully as he gazed on. “Every day, it’s the same sun that rises, but…” He thought to himself. “I always find its beauty refreshed and new. But time’s a wastin, I need to go.” The man turned, setting his sights on a small village, almost completely surrounded by a giant wall of sand, and another artificial wall of stone, this one fully encapsulating the village save for a few closed gates. “Oasis… I always wondered how these people survive and thrive. There’s only a few farms around, and there never seems to be any deliveries to it. Whatever, it’s what I’ve got.” 

The shanty little town was obviously running on a bit of luck, but it was the only means of the man’s survival. It was shaped primarily like a pause symbol, as two rows of buildings sat parallel to each other, connected by rows of laundry, flags, and various decorations. There were a few buildings that broke off from the formation, seeming to be sheds, outhouses, and other miscellaneous odds and ends. 

He hopped on his board and sped down the mountainous dune, keeping his weight on his back foot. He dreaded the journey down, as its steepness always posed a threat, though he’s only ever fallen a few times. Halfway down the dune, he pulled up a cloth mask and the hood of the duster, completely concealing himself. Soon, the kicked up sand settled and he reached his destination. He took a seat at the side of the wall, just next to the gate. He pulled his leg up onto his lap and pushed on the boot, retracting the digging ridges.