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My feet hurt, my legs hurt, the sun or whatever it is in the sky is blinding and hot, I'm sweaty and miserable. I have no idea where I am or if I'll ever leave. I really want to panic, but where would that get me? Nowhere, which is where a feel like I am. Imagine if there was some kind of planet called Nowhere. It couldn't possibly be as bad as this place.
I take my hood, mask, and goggles off. I'd made a new suit that consisted of more leather and looked more punk, but now I'm really regretting it. The leather is heavy and hot and does not breathe at all. I strip down until I'm only in my black leather pants, black boots, and a black tank top. I look like a miserable goth chick. I drape the leather jacket piece of my suit over my head to block out the sun thing.
If I ever see Loki again, I'm gonna kill him, I think bitterly as I trudge through the trash. It's his fault I'm even here. I should be on Asgard with Thor right now, helping him defeat Hela.
Time seems to pass unnaturally slowly. Or maybe it's passing unnaturally quickly. Maybe my perception of time has been twisted, as walking for miles and miles without knowing where you are or what's going on tends to do that sometimes.
I find a small alcove in a big pile of furniture just as the sun dips below the horizon. Inside the alcove are bed sheets, a turned over and split in half table, and a door off its hinges. I prop the door and half table near the entrance, blocking it the best I can. I pile the bed sheets on the ground, creating myself a pallet. My wadded up jacket serves as a pillow.
This planet feels dangerous—especially since I haven't come across a soul. It ramps up my anxiety, putting me on edge. I expect something terrible to happen any second. As much as I don't want to rest or attempt to sleep because of those reasons, I need it.
What a strange day it has been. It's weird to think that just this morning my biggest worry was that my mom was going to kill me for the scorch marks on my wall. Now she'll never get the chance. What's the likelihood that I'll ever make out of here? Where even is here?
I cry myself to sleep.
Sleep doesn't bring me any peace, either. I dream that monsters spring out of the shadows of junk and attack me. I dream of a whole world on fire, getting completely destroyed. I dream that I'm being hunted by savage cannibals, who are hellbent on eating me. When one of the cannibals pierces me through the gut with a pogo stick, that's when I jolt awake in a cold sweat.
It appears to be the early hours of the morning. The dark sky has just turned the slightest bit purple. It has cooled off significantly, leaving me on the ground with a chill. I put my jacket back on.
In the distance is the sound of shuffling—like someone sorting through canned goods. It grows closer, as do voices. I back into the wall and summon a throwing knife. I have no choice but to fight. If I run they'll see me instantly. Maybe by being in the dark in here I'll have the element of surprise.
