alastar

Scene 1
He walked, frozen and weary, down the same long stretch of road he'd been using since the snow started three days ago. Without plows its accumulation was deep and undisturbed, immaculate except for the solitary track of footprints he left behind. The first day he'd driven, but when the snow proved too difficult for the small car, he had been forced to abandon his vehicle. He didn't feel safe going into any houses yet, for fear of meeting any thing that had been locked inside and unable to get out. In the buildings, he assumed, it was still warm enough to keep from freezing. However, he had worked up the courage to enter an old barn which is where he spent the previous night. It wasn't any warmer than it was outside, but at least it stopped the wind. He gathered a pile of hay from the ground, wrapping it and himself in some old tarps. The result was an itchy but warm sleeping bag.

It was getting dark and he desperately needed to find shelter. He could see in the distance a small gas station, the first structure in miles. It looked abandoned; the parking lot was empty and there appeared to be only darkness inside. He approached it cautiously. It had many large, tinted windows that would prevent him from seeing in unless he were to put his face right up to the glass and cup his hands around his eyes. He didn't feel like getting that close without testing the water first. From about ten feet away he made a few snowballs and threw them at the windows. Poised and ready to sprint away, he listened intently for any noise. There were neither moans nor sounds of movement; good enough for him.

A small snowdrift had built up in front of the doors and he kicked his way through it as he approached. Hoping it wasn't locked he pushed on a door and let out a sigh of relief as it swung inward. The wind blew swirls of snowflakes inside and they were lost in the darkness, taunting him, daring him to follow them. "Hello?" he called. He did not expect a reply and was awarded with silence. He stepped inside. He had to work to push the door closed against the wind and the small amount of snow that had already accumulated in its wake. He began to walk away when it was blown open again and snow shot in like sparks off fireworks. He closed it, this time running his hand up and down the door searching for a lock. He felt the frame of the door, found and fumbled with a knob, turning it until he heard the cold metallic click of the lock engaging. Shivering, he looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dim light that came through the windows. He saw a door with a sign labeling it a public restroom.

He opened the door and looked into its pitch-black nothingness. He was too cold to search for a flashlight so he grabbed a handful of lighters off of a display rack and walked inside, locking the door behind him. It was a tiny bathroom, six by maybe five feet, which is what he wanted; he figured his body would be better able to heat a smaller space. He looked in a cabinet and found a large role of brown paper towel. He placed this in the sink and set it alight. Taking off his gloves he warmed his hands in the fierce but ever dulling flames. The fire was out in minutes and he was left in the dark, only slightly warmer than before. He grabbed another role out of the cupboard but this time used it as a pillow. He lay on the cold linoleum. His mind was almost as numb as his hands.

Outside, he couldn't think about what had happened in the last week. His mind had been acting on almost animalistic impulses and instincts to find shelter. However, now that he was content and growing warmer, cerebral activity was put little by little back under his own control. This is not what he wanted. Exhausted, he soon fell asleep.

Dreams spiked with hypothermia and shock played in his mind. Horrific events from the past week were stitched and sewn to worries and fears of his own creation. The threads came undone and the mouth of madness opened up around him. Strings hung from its lips like saliva. It breathed out large gusts of wind that carried snow, striking him in the face with its crisp caress. Bloody hands with peeled back, bloodstained fingernails reached out from the abyss and groped the air, reaching for him. Relentlessly grabbing, their fingers grasped nothing as they opened and closed them again and again. He tried to move away, but they encircled him, closing in like a noose around his sanity.

He woke up sweating, shaking. He felt around beside himself and touched a lighter. He lit it to reveal the inside of the small bathroom he had forgotten he entered. He lay motionless in the flickering light of the flame as the dream faded. His stomach turned and growled, hungry. He moved to get up as every muscle in his body burned with opposition. A sudden rush of blood to his head carried with it a pulsating headache, accompanied by nausea. He leaned against the wall for support until the room stopped spinning. Composing himself, he slowly felt around in the dark for the door handle, turned it, and was surprised to be stricken in the face by what was at the moment the brightest light he could ever remember seeing. Squinting, he walked out of the bathroom and waited for his eyes to adjust. Deciding that hunger could wait and that the headache he was experiencing warranted his immediate attention, he began to search for pills. Once they were found and swallowed, he began stalking up and down the aisles, pulling bags and boxes from the shelves until he felt he had enough.

you worry too much