Ron etched another line in the wall of the mud hut that had been his home for the last 31 days. When would the nightmare end?
31 days, and still he can’t cross the boundary of the graveyard.
Today, like every day, the desert sun was unforgiving. Today, though, he would get out.
“There’s GOT to be a way,” Ron said. “If only I could remember…”
31 days ago, Ron found himself here and tried to leave. Every day, he tried something new. Every day, he failed.
Twice, new people came. They got out the same night. Twice, Ron couldn’t follow them out.
Ron felt for the locket, opened it and tried to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. Neither would hunger or sleep or thirst. Ron kicked at a tombstone and stomped the ground over his grave.
“Give her up,” came a voice from behind him.
Ron spun around and ducked inside the hut. Nothing. Just the same tools in this old adobe shed.
“Give her up and walk out, dummy” said the voice again.
Ron ran back out of the hut and looked around. A raven cocked its head and set its brown eye on him. “Not too smart, this one,” the bird said.
“Hey!” Ron squinted put his hand up to shield his eyes. “Bird! What did you say?” Ron walked around the hut so the sun wasn’t in his eyes.
“Or you could try running again, dummy,” the bird seemed to laugh at him. “Or jumping. That was funny. Dummy.”
“If you’re so smart, then you tell me how to get out,” Ron turned to the stone wall around the cemetery. The bird was sitting on the wall. Ron glanced back up at the hut and back at the bird. “How did-”
“Get rid of her, dummy,” the bird said and hopped a few steps over. “Give me the shiny,” the bird said, flew over and pulled off the necklace and locket, and landed on the other side of the wall.
“Hey!” Ron jumped after the bird, falling over the wall, out of the cemetery.
This is from the Write to Done Scene Stealer series. I’ve done a couple of them, and wanted to do this one but forgot over the holidays. I was going to do an island or zombie story, but several other people already did those stories. Mine would be different but I have this drive, this urge to be original and not another “me, too” writer.
The island and zombie ideas were good back stories of why he was in Hell in a Hut for 31 days. I thought that maybe he was already dead and trapped by his unwillingness to leave his last possession behind, his unwillingness to sever the last string to the land of the living.