Steve really didn’t want to wake all the way up, because sometimes you know things aren’t going to be good when you open your eyes.
On the other hand, better to see the trouble coming than get hit by it. He shook his eyes into focus and looked around.
Didn’t make any sense. He shook his head again and squinted. The sky was the color of an old bruise; solid cloud-cover in dusty greys and purples hung overhead from one end of the sky to the other, but that wasn’t really the problem — in fifty years you can see some pretty odd weather, after all. The sky just make Sam think tornado warning.
No, the problem was that he was looking at the battered sky through the bars of a wooden cage. Worse, the cage was in the middle of some kind of camp. There was a fire burning a few feet away, cooking something that smelled like rotten corn silage, and there were about a dozen little buildings around him that looked like they were made out of sod.
The people walking around, even the two that were looking at him in the cage, were short little wiry bastards with dried mud caked all over their skin.
They didn’t look like right at all.

2 Replies to “~Steven~”

  1. Don’t really like Steven, but damn, you don’t really have time to go looking for the perfect name with 30 minutes between posts. :P

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