The Fall and Maybe the Rebirth?

Chapter 2: The First Encounter

The First Encounter

I am yet again walking down the dirt path that leads to and from my house. The Sun is no longer anywhere to be seen, the sky a dark indigo. Where one used to be able to see bright white stars, there are now dull, gray dots that litter the sky.

The wind has picked up, it's harshly picking up and throwing around my hair. I don't bother trying to tame it as I once did.

I think back on the kid. He's just a child forced to do bad things to survive, like most of the people in this once vast country. Ever since the war there has been a struggle for anybody to survive, let alone live.

I hear a twig snap to my left.

My breath hitches slightly, the sound not noticeable, before I force myself to pretend to relax. I stay alert and on edge, silently placing my hand on top of the sheath on my belt, while looking like I haven't heard a thing out of place. A skill that has been ingrained into me, a skill important to my survival.

I strain my ears to hear anything. I hear the faint, customary sound of an animal's nose sniffing around. I relax slightly, still staying on guard, the possibility of it being a hunting dog looming over me.

Out of the corner of my eye I see red fur. Ah. It's just one of the local foxes coming out of its den from hibernating.

I let myself relax as it walk out of view.

My walk home was relatively uneventful after. The occasional sound of owls in the distance and the wind in my ears being the only things to note.

I finally came across the sight of my home. A decently sized bungalow, the outside bricks, once painted an olive green, now a dusty brown, different flower beds filled with all kinds of different plants are sprinkled along the outside. Most of the windows are covered with some kind of board or plant, making it near impossible to inside of.

I let out an almost silent sigh in relief, letting the little bits of tension still settled in my shoulders rest.

I lersiously walked towards the door, unlocking the door with my key, and then the protective interior door with a different, yet similar, key.

In the right, front, corner of the room is the kitchen. It is clearly worn, but well loved. The clean, yet worn counter, the pale yellow wallpaper which doesn't quite aline together anymore, the old, scratchy, gray fridge amongst other things.

Behind where the fridge is, is a wall which I know belongs to the washroom.

In the left front corner is my old, worn, dark oak table and chair. A once broken vase that I glued together so the designs no longer match up perfectly sits on top, dead flowers that I have to replace held within.

On the left wall, parallel to the dining room is a dark brown, worn, woven couch. A few patches of different colours having been sewn where the couch has been worn just too thin sit a top of.

Even though it is much different environment then what I grew up, I find myself having fallen in love with the run-down bungalow.

I walk towards the couch, on the other side is a well concealed trap door. I grab the hard-to-See metal handle and tug, pulling it open.

I climb down the ladder gently, closing the hatch behind me. I am in no rush. Nor do I want to trip and fall.

My feet eventually hit the solid wood of the floor.

I reach around blindly before finding my oil lamp. It blinks awake with the help of my lighter.

Now able to see in front of me, I make my way past the giant map I've managed to save, and my collections of different weapons that line the walls.

I continue walking, making my way down the hall where I've stowed my bedroom.

I quietly make my way inside, the sound of my feet on the wooden floor almost nonexistent.

Once in the confines of my bedroom walls, I lock the door and promptly gracefully settle down onto the floor, leaning against the solid wood of the door to ground myself.

After what I can assume is around twenty minutes, I drag myself upwards.

I drag my hands down my face.

I gently tug on my hair before hulling myself up to a stand. Little sign of the perfect doctrine I was once known for left in me.

I take off my belt, not bothering to take off any of the sheathed items attached to it. Taking off my heavy fur cloak afterwards, I roll my shoulders after the release of the weight. I finally free my wrists from the confines of my wrist guards.

I gently and carefully roll up my sleeves up my arms.

I then tug my boots off in an orderly fashion, just as I have been taught since I was young. Neatly placing them next to the door, I walk towards the dark oak desk nestled in the corner of the room.

Above the desk, on the wall, are a bunch of small ticks marks engraved upon it, I carve another matching line next to the last and sigh. Another day in this barren wasteland has passed.

I manage to fight the urge to throw myself face first onto my bed, laying down on my stomach. As soon as my head hits the pillows I'm out like a light.

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