Drabbles

Lost to Time

This is paced shitty but I forgot to hand it in so I had to speed finish it. Also formatted SUPER weird because Wattpad hates google docs.

    Waymore had travelled through plenty of odd towns, but this one was downright supernatural. Witchcraft was not only expected; it was celebrated here. Something about the presence of magic made the cowboy uneasy. He had a bad feeling about this one.

    The hair stood up on the back of his neck
as he pushed the door to a local inn open. Something was going to happen. He could feel it in his boots yet, he pushed the feeling down. He had heard stories of magic messing with the minds of the non-gifted.

    Spurs jangling, he walked to the front desk. The only source of light was a dim candle. It was seemingly floating in mid-air by some invisible string Waymore guessed. All this magic and trying to figure out how it worked made his brain hurt. The candle swayed back and forth like a grandfather clock; almost teasing him with the confusion it brought upon him.

    A glass of whiskey poured itself silently. It was an eerie sight. It nudged itself against Waymore's palm, reminding him of a cat in search of love. His mama kept a cat around their ranch growing up, it kept the rats out of their chickens.

    An old man trudged out from a darkened hallway that looked as if it had appeared from thin air. What was going on? He walked with a limp, almost dragging his left foot behind him. A jewelled cane in his hand. A David-Crosby-Esque moustache fell over his upper lip and his bones seemed to rattle when he walked. It was almost like you could hear each bone grind against where joints (may have) been at one point.

    Waymore's hand instinctively went to the gun on his belt as he took a large step back from the stranger. He stumbled over seemingly nothing, landing on his back. With a tobacco-stained smile, the old man held out his hand. A peace offering. Waymore thought to himself. Maybe not everyone... or everything was out to get him.

    "Ya don't gotta shoot me," the old man had a sense of calm about him. Even the threat of death didn't seem to bother him. Waymore accepted the hand up, dusting off his clothes. His voice was monotone, and something about it sounded inhuman.

    "Well-" the outlaw cleared his throat, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "May I have a room here?"

    "Why certainly!" The old man beamed. Waymore tried to look into his face, to figure out the elder's features but it all seemed meddled and muddy. His face was a blank slate almost... except for that horrendously long moustache. Somehow his face conveyed emotion, which made this even eerier. He pointed the cane toward a wall and a door appeared.

    The door emitted a soft purple glow, which was both bewildering and oddly beautiful. Waymore studied it, unsure if it was safe to enter. The door felt colder than the rest of the room, like a little room shut off from the rest of the universe.

    "What are ya waitin' on?" The old man spoke harsher than before. He sounded sort of like a dog barking.

    "Is.. Is it safe?" the cowboys eyes darted between the door and the stranger.

    "Of course it's safe! What kind of inn keeper would I be if it was some kind of portal?" He scoffed.

    Waymore was always taught to trust his elders, and so he did. It would end up the greatest mistake of his life. He opened the door, but was fooled by the illusional image of a warm bed and shelter from the deadly night. Waymore stepped in.

    He immediately plummeted through pitch black, hearing the old man's cackling from somewhere far above... Or decades behind him. With a groan, he landed on a hard surface. He lay there, processing what had happened while warm sticky blood begin trickling down his neck. Then, the cowboy sat up.

    His surroundings were nothing like the one he left. A yellow line streaked down the dark stone, structures that sort of resembled houses had glowing white light and somewhere on the horizon two bright lights were approaching rapidly. Waymore stared at the lights, squinting his eyes. He could make out a metallic thing.

    Before he knew it, the thing collided with the cowboy. He collapsed as the world went black. His body felt numb, and he could hear every little noise. Loud blaring noises, people chattering, beeping, footsteps and other unusual sounds.

    He awoke in an unknown place, his legs seemingly unmoveable. His mind was foggy. The room was white, it didn't feel warm or welcoming at all. A cold feeling hung heavy in the air, a clean smell in on his lips. It was the type of scent you could taste. This place seemed unreal.

    A woman in greenish blue noticed he was awake. "Hello, sir. Let me get the doctor,"

    The news was broken that he had been paralyzed from the waist down. He would never walk again. The doctor questioned him on his identity. Waymore explained where he was from, what his time was like and who he was. No one believed him.

    The doctor tapped his pen against the wispy beard on his chin. He looked concernedly to the nurse. "I'd say the fella has severe brain damage,"

    "No! I went to an inn and the old man summoned a door, I went through the door and I landed on a really long rock and now I'm here--" Waymore felt like sobbing, but tears just wouldn't form. "I don't know what happened but I want to go home,"

    He would never go home. Waymore was lost in history. Forgotten about. Left to die in a world that was not his own and doomed to die as a forgettable modern man everyone thought had gone crazy.