http://bluemanoncampus.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
bluemanoncampus.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fh_fic2005-10-19 05:58 pm
bluemanoncampus.livejournal.com) wrote in fh_fic2005-10-19 05:58 pm
Entry tags:
Journeying Through Quiet Places
Journeying Through Quiet Places (2/?)
Rating: PG for content, it may get "harder" later on
Summary: Hank was sucked into Locker 327 (or whatever) for a few days. It was much longer for him.
Part One
Daylight shone on Hank’s face as he woke for a second time. Although his shoulder still throbbed its dull roar, the pain was much less than it had been and he could move it without agony.
In the light of dawn and with a clearer head, Hank saw that the house he had holed up in was fairly obviously abandoned. His dragging footsteps showed clearly in the fine layer of dust that covered everything and the couch he had slept on was frayed and sun-bleached.
Hank spent most of that morning rummaging through the house, trying to find some clothes that would fit or some painkillers. Unfortunately, everything of value was gone or useless. The bedrooms looked like they had been torn apart, the bathrooms looked like they had been ransacked, the kitchen had rather obviously already been looted. The only place even remotely intact was a small shrine of some sort.
Eventually, he fashioned a crude skirt out of an old bedsheet that he found buried beneath on overturned bureau. Thus girded, he braved the outside world.
There was a rabbit hopping down the road, nibbling at the weeds growing there, which froze at the sound of the door creaking open. When the blue apparition didn’t make any immediately threatening moves, it darted into the tall grass on the opposite side of the road, leaving no sign of its presence.
Hank slowly walked over to the driveway and down it to the street, where he looked up and down it, unbelieving.
The grass is too long and that rabbit was too bold for this to be a recent development. What happened here?
He walked over to the crashed car and, mindful of his shoulder, inspected it and the site where he had landed. Any debris that may have accompanied him was already gone, carried off by the wind, but Hank had slightly more luck with the car. Its make and model were unfamiliar and the design was odd, but the front doors were both swinging open, so he was able to crawl in and explore. He found a yellowed newspaper shoved under the driver’s seat. Unfortunately, it was written in what appeared to be Latin and the only part that was legible was the date: XXXI Octobris MMDCXLIX.
Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
***********
Hank spent the next several days exploring the area and foraging for food and usable goods. The local wildlife was surprisingly plentiful and complacent and Hank found that he was able to use a feline pounce-and-grab maneuver to great success. Eventually, he created some briefs, a loincloth, a poncho and a carry-all from torn linens and curtains and stockpiled a distressingly small amount of survival gear. The immediate area was stripped of almost everything of value, but Hank was able to scrounge about 30 matches, a metal cup, and a kitchen knife.
Finally, the day came when Hank acknowledged that it was time to move on. In the absence of other people, he had taken to muttering to himself.
“Nothing left here. Need to find more people. Need to find a way back.”
He left six days after he arrived, and Waverly Drive was once again left to the birds and small mammals.
P.S. I believe that I may need a beta reader before long. Would anyone be willing?
Rating: PG for content, it may get "harder" later on
Summary: Hank was sucked into Locker 327 (or whatever) for a few days. It was much longer for him.
Part One
Daylight shone on Hank’s face as he woke for a second time. Although his shoulder still throbbed its dull roar, the pain was much less than it had been and he could move it without agony.
In the light of dawn and with a clearer head, Hank saw that the house he had holed up in was fairly obviously abandoned. His dragging footsteps showed clearly in the fine layer of dust that covered everything and the couch he had slept on was frayed and sun-bleached.
Hank spent most of that morning rummaging through the house, trying to find some clothes that would fit or some painkillers. Unfortunately, everything of value was gone or useless. The bedrooms looked like they had been torn apart, the bathrooms looked like they had been ransacked, the kitchen had rather obviously already been looted. The only place even remotely intact was a small shrine of some sort.
Eventually, he fashioned a crude skirt out of an old bedsheet that he found buried beneath on overturned bureau. Thus girded, he braved the outside world.
There was a rabbit hopping down the road, nibbling at the weeds growing there, which froze at the sound of the door creaking open. When the blue apparition didn’t make any immediately threatening moves, it darted into the tall grass on the opposite side of the road, leaving no sign of its presence.
Hank slowly walked over to the driveway and down it to the street, where he looked up and down it, unbelieving.
The grass is too long and that rabbit was too bold for this to be a recent development. What happened here?
He walked over to the crashed car and, mindful of his shoulder, inspected it and the site where he had landed. Any debris that may have accompanied him was already gone, carried off by the wind, but Hank had slightly more luck with the car. Its make and model were unfamiliar and the design was odd, but the front doors were both swinging open, so he was able to crawl in and explore. He found a yellowed newspaper shoved under the driver’s seat. Unfortunately, it was written in what appeared to be Latin and the only part that was legible was the date: XXXI Octobris MMDCXLIX.
Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
***********
Hank spent the next several days exploring the area and foraging for food and usable goods. The local wildlife was surprisingly plentiful and complacent and Hank found that he was able to use a feline pounce-and-grab maneuver to great success. Eventually, he created some briefs, a loincloth, a poncho and a carry-all from torn linens and curtains and stockpiled a distressingly small amount of survival gear. The immediate area was stripped of almost everything of value, but Hank was able to scrounge about 30 matches, a metal cup, and a kitchen knife.
Finally, the day came when Hank acknowledged that it was time to move on. In the absence of other people, he had taken to muttering to himself.
“Nothing left here. Need to find more people. Need to find a way back.”
He left six days after he arrived, and Waverly Drive was once again left to the birds and small mammals.
P.S. I believe that I may need a beta reader before long. Would anyone be willing?