(DONE) Ep. 1 - The Red Wastes [Miko]
Jul 27, 2014 0:37:59 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 27, 2014 0:37:59 GMT -5
Panting, wheezing, the young woman almost fell to her knees. Endless miles of scrub, sandstone and sand stretched out, barren brown and blue the only sight on the horizon. Hair a half-braided mess, long strands of black falling over her face and shoulders in disheveled strands, Sarita warily looked around. No man or woman pursued her, and she couldn't hear anymore the sound of cars.
In fact, she couldn't hear anything, save for the hiss of the summery landscape and the patter of a roadrunner's feet. The busker looked around, numbly trying to process what had happened — she was panting harshly, her forehead dripping with sweat. It was the height of the day, and the noontime sun was beating down mercilessly.
She had been running from a truck stop, that much she knew. Behind her had been a smartass rig jockey, swinging around a tire iron and threatening to beat her face in. All she had done was comment on his taste in women, and how not to address Sarita if he was remotely interested in her. A slap on the ass was not a friendly way of saying "hello", and she had chewed him out in that grease trap of a pit stop.
And now, here she was, debating her wisdom in life and considering her pick of gas places. Of course she would forget to bring extra gas, knowing how dangerous it was to be alone in the desert; she was miles outside of Jasper. The closest settlement she could think of were a handful of ghost towns, and of course, the city of Las Vegas.
Turning in a circle, the woman beginning to regain control of herself, Sarita breathlessly uttered the only thing she could think of:
"Fucking hell."
Not the most ladylike thing to say, but at least it was fitting. There was nothing but heat and dust as far as the eye could see; Sarita held a hand over her head to squint past the shimmering waves. She honestly didn't know how long she had been running, and the sun was cooking her brain in its own fluids. Where on Earth had she come from?
Hours later, and after much hapless wandering, Sarita came to rest in the shadow of a large formation. Leaning against the ancient stone, the material streaked with all sorts of ruddy-red and honey-yellow hues, the woman's eyes closed as she sighed deeply. She had found no indication that she was close to any road — there were no landmarks, and the scrub was thick and prickly in many places. Her red skirt was already torn, and the edges of her wine-coloured shirt had suffered similarly. Evening would come in the next couple of hours; though she welcomed the relief from the heat, Sarita knew the dangers of the dark.
Where there was shadow and unseen corners, there were predators both human and non-human. People lived out here, strange and dysfunctional as they might be, and many of them were not friendly. Adding in the snakes, scorpions and spiders that could cut a life short if one wasn't careful....
In fact, she couldn't hear anything, save for the hiss of the summery landscape and the patter of a roadrunner's feet. The busker looked around, numbly trying to process what had happened — she was panting harshly, her forehead dripping with sweat. It was the height of the day, and the noontime sun was beating down mercilessly.
She had been running from a truck stop, that much she knew. Behind her had been a smartass rig jockey, swinging around a tire iron and threatening to beat her face in. All she had done was comment on his taste in women, and how not to address Sarita if he was remotely interested in her. A slap on the ass was not a friendly way of saying "hello", and she had chewed him out in that grease trap of a pit stop.
And now, here she was, debating her wisdom in life and considering her pick of gas places. Of course she would forget to bring extra gas, knowing how dangerous it was to be alone in the desert; she was miles outside of Jasper. The closest settlement she could think of were a handful of ghost towns, and of course, the city of Las Vegas.
Turning in a circle, the woman beginning to regain control of herself, Sarita breathlessly uttered the only thing she could think of:
"Fucking hell."
Not the most ladylike thing to say, but at least it was fitting. There was nothing but heat and dust as far as the eye could see; Sarita held a hand over her head to squint past the shimmering waves. She honestly didn't know how long she had been running, and the sun was cooking her brain in its own fluids. Where on Earth had she come from?
Hours later, and after much hapless wandering, Sarita came to rest in the shadow of a large formation. Leaning against the ancient stone, the material streaked with all sorts of ruddy-red and honey-yellow hues, the woman's eyes closed as she sighed deeply. She had found no indication that she was close to any road — there were no landmarks, and the scrub was thick and prickly in many places. Her red skirt was already torn, and the edges of her wine-coloured shirt had suffered similarly. Evening would come in the next couple of hours; though she welcomed the relief from the heat, Sarita knew the dangers of the dark.
Where there was shadow and unseen corners, there were predators both human and non-human. People lived out here, strange and dysfunctional as they might be, and many of them were not friendly. Adding in the snakes, scorpions and spiders that could cut a life short if one wasn't careful....