The First Runner

Looks like I'm stuck here

I woke up the next morning to the sound of what I assumed was the doors grinding open. I groaned, rubbing my eyes and slowly sitting up. Once I was slightly more awake, I stood up and peered out the window just in time to see the doors stop moving, revealing the opening to whatever lay beyond the Glade.

I'm not entirely sure why, but something deep inside me longed to go out and see what was beyond the doors, but just not yet. I knew I had stuff to do around the Glade. Heck, if I was going to be stuck here, I was going to at least make it livable.

I started by unpacking the crate of clothes and placing them on the shelves. It wasn't a lot, but I had a couple of different shirts, three pairs of shorts, and four different pairs of longer pants. The routine of organizing these essentials gave me a sense of normalcy, something I desperately needed in this strange place.

Bark trotted over and watched me curiously, his tail wagging slightly. I gave him a quick pat before deciding to head into the building I'd spotted yesterday that looked to be a kitchen.

The kitchen was tucked away near the back of the central part of the homestead. It was dusty and filled with the crates I'd dumped in here the day before. The room had a sense of potential, despite the layers of neglect. Other than the dust, it looked perfectly functional. There was a fridge, a working stove, and a microwave—pretty much everything you'd need in a kitchen.

I set to work cleaning up. Starting with the counters, I wiped away the grime with a damp cloth, the water turning murky as I wrung it out into a bucket. It took several passes to reveal the worn but sturdy surfaces underneath. I moved on to the appliances, wiping down the fridge and stove, checking to make sure everything was in working order. The fridge hummed reassuringly when I plugged it in, and the stove clicked to life when I tested the burners.

Once I was satisfied with the cleanliness of the kitchen, I started moving the food into the fridge and onto the shelves. The assortment was basic but enough to get by—canned goods, dried pasta, and a few fresh vegetables. As I organized the shelves, the room began to feel more like a proper kitchen and less like an abandoned relic.

I then unpacked the crates filled with various utensils, pots, and pans. Each item found its place, creating a sense of order. The clinking of metal as I arranged everything was oddly comforting, grounding me in the task.

Bark lay by the door, watching me with his big, soulful eyes. I smiled at him, grateful for the company. "We're getting there, buddy," I said, scratching behind his ears.

With the kitchen now in a usable state, I decided it was time for breakfast. I found some bread and eggs in one of the crates and decided to make myself some toast and scrambled eggs. The smell of cooking filled the air, making the kitchen feel even more homely. I sat at the small table by the window, savoring the simple meal while Bark watched me, hoping for scraps.

After breakfast, I decided to tackle the garden. I grabbed the seeds from one of the crates and headed outside. The sun was warm, and the air smelled of earth and grass. I found a spot near the barn that looked ideal for planting. Using a small spade, I began to turn the soil, working it until it was loose and ready for seeds.

The rhythmic motion of digging and planting was soothing. I planted rows of vegetables—carrots, beans, lettuce—hoping they would grow well in this new environment. As I worked, Bark wandered around, occasionally coming over to sniff at the freshly turned soil.

After a few hours of hard work, my stomach began to rumble, reminding me it was time for lunch. I headed back to the kitchen and made a simple sandwich, enjoying a moment of rest while Bark lay at my feet, content to nap in the shade.

With lunch finished, I turned my attention to gathering wood. There was a small grove of trees at the edge of the Glade, and I headed there with an axe I had found in one of the crates. Bark followed closely, his curiosity piqued by every rustle and movement in the underbrush.

I chopped wood, setting aside a pile for firewood and another for building materials. The repetitive swing of the axe and the satisfying crack of splitting wood made me feel productive and strong. Sweat dripped down my forehead, and my muscles ached, but it was a good kind of tired.

Returning to the barn, I used some of the wood to start building an outdoor pen for the pigs and a proper coop for the chickens. It was rough work, and I knew it would take time to complete, but it felt good to have a project.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the Glade, I finally took a break. I sat on the steps of the central building, Bark by my side. The day had been long and hard, but looking around at the small improvements I'd made, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

I watched as the doors shuddered and groaned, then slowly started to slide shut. The grinding sound was a harsh reminder of the mysterious and possibly dangerous nature of this place. The massive stone doors moved with a deliberate, almost menacing slowness, sealing the Glade off from whatever lay beyond.

I sighed and scratched Bark behind the ears. "Guess it's just us for the night," I said softly. The idea of the walls closing in, trapping me inside, was unsettling, but there was also a strange comfort in the predictability of it. At least I knew what to expect. 

After a moment of watching the doors, I stood up and stretched, feeling the day's exertion in my muscles. "Come on, Bark. Let's get some dinner and then call it a night."

We headed back into the kitchen, where I fixed a simple meal from the supplies I had unpacked earlier. Bark watched intently as I prepared the food, his tail thumping in anticipation. I set aside a portion for him and placed it on the floor, smiling as he eagerly devoured it.

After dinner, I tidied up the kitchen, making sure everything was in order for the next day. Then, I took a quick shower, the warm water washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. The shower was a welcome luxury, a small slice of normalcy in this otherwise strange and unpredictable environment.

"Tomorrow, we'll explore a bit more," I murmured, more to myself than to Bark. His soft, steady breathing was a comforting presence as I drifted off to sleep, ready to face whatever challenges the next day would bring.