Jolted awake by an immense sound of grinding rock, Graham darted to his feet. It was unbearably bright and he was feeling woozy. The atmosphere was warm, almost hot, with thinning oxygen. The sky was crimson and everything was sun-drenched. His confusion was augmented by the environment. An adequate thought arose in Graham’s mind. One of Dante’s seventh circle, complete with fiery sands and all. This place appeared the farthest from Greenland: desert-like and threatening. And though, Greenland’s biome prevented much in the way of trees, this place too had none. However, that did not mean nothing casted shadow against the orange hued terrain. He panned with constricted pupils. Large black stones protruded out of the dirt and sand in all directions. The obsidian pillars measure anywhere from half to several meters tall and Professor Evans stood in a virtual forest of them.
After his mind was slightly oriented to the land, Graham realized he was alone. His company, much like all the Greenlandic landscape, was gone.
The sun, feeling more intense than ever, pounded his brow into a river of perspiration. It dawned on him that he was still dressed for the icy valley. He stripped to his shirt and trousers and slid his braces from his shoulders; even this was hardly a solution. Greenland’s wintry winds had made him long for the mild chills of the English Channel which he mostly tolerated in Sussex. Never did he think he would long for those same brutal winds.
Graham’s maudlin eyes further surveyed the area. Visibility was hampered by a summery haze but he discerned the most obvious feature of the land, a large slope. It seems almost mountainous but from his vantage he could only see the base and the general incline with certainty. It could very well be a single ridge instead of a range. To Graham, the inclined appeared within his means to traverse. He thought, pending the firmness of the pillars’ foundations, he would be able to rest against them as needed. It was with that reassuring, though minor thought, he mustered the courage to press forward. One step after another, he began his ascension. The leather of his shoes, like the rest of his distressed body, already dusted in arenaceous orange.
Groans of exhaustion rattled from Graham’s dry throat. The slope of the massif repetitively changed from a meager incline to pure elevation and back again. It made his venture difficult to gauge but he knew, with certainty, he was on a constant incline. Graham felt that if he reached a certain height in the summit, he would be able to see something…anything.
Although, Graham found himself in this alien world, he was more shocked by how quickly his intrigue dissolved. His thoughts drifted from his family to friends, to hunger. His emotions followed the drifting thoughts but every one seemed to circle the bizarre events that led him to this moment. The memories jabbed him more pointedly with every recurrence, and he occasionally pestered himself with the utterance,
“what was it?”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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[Abridged – Lyric Version]
Jolted awake by an immense sound of grinding rock. The atmosphere was warm with thinning oxygen.
The sky was crimson and everything was sun-drenched.
This place appeared the farthest from Greenland: desert-like and threatening. Large black stones protruded out of the dirt and sand in all directions - a virtual forest of obsidian pillar
He was alone.
The sun, feeling more intense than ever, pounded his brow… into a river of perspiration.
Greenland’s wintry winds … Never did he think he would long for those same brutal winds.
His maudlin eyes…visibility was hampered by a summery haze but he discerned the most obvious feature of the land, a large slope. One step after another, he began his ascension…. his distressed body, already dusted in arenaceous orange.
Groans of exhaustion rattled from his dry throat. His thoughts drifted from his family to friends, to hunger. His emotions followed the drifting thoughts but every one seemed to circle the bizarre events that led him to this moment. every thought brought him back to that moment.
The memories jabbed him more pointedly with every recurrence, and he occasionally pestered himself with the utterance,
“What was it?”
