Oh, my head was killing me.
'Where… where am I?' I groaned, shaking my head. It was so hot, there was no way I was in my bedroom anymore. But how? Last I remembered, I was stretched out in bed, doing… doing something. Reading, wasn't it? Yeah, I was reading. What the book was, I couldn't say, but I was definitely reading.
The sun was beating down on me, and I wheezed. I had never been this hot before, and I'd grown up in Texas. It was a dryer heat than I had ever felt before-as though I were laying in the desert, wearing a thick coat. Was… was I dreaming?
If I was, this was the realest damned dream I'd ever had.
I could hear vultures calling overhead, and ravens responding. Horses whickering not far away, hooves thundering along the ground. Sand pressed against my stomach-was I naked? Fuck, was I naked? I forced my eyes open, having to squint as a harsh light made my head throb worse than before. "Shiiiit," I couldn't help but to groan, closing my eyes.
And then, I tried again.
And there was no damn way this was a dream, because I had never been this imaginative. Brown grass stretched out before me, no breeze that could move it to be felt. There were rocks scattered around, dry looking brush sticking out along with cacti and dying trees. Jesus, this place was a brush fire waiting to happen, wasn't it?
Bison (bison‽) sizzled off in the distance, and there was a small herd of… some sort of deer grazing only a few yards from me. They were pronghorns, I think, although I wasn't sure. Looked like them, although I'd only ever seen them in video games. But one of them had the funny curved horns and… why was that important? I dunno, but I guess when you go to sleep in your bed, and wake up in the desert, you focus on weird things.
Dry grass crunched nearby, and I blinked, frowning. Shit, I hadn't realized it was possible for your eyes to feel dry, but they did. Licking my lips-why did that feel so weird?-I turned my head, shaking it again and regretting it instantly as my head throbbed. Looking up, there was a man there that looked like utter shit. Greasy hair that was matted around his hair, a pockmarked face, and a sweat-stained, ratty wife-beater. But at the moment, he was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.
"'Scuse me," I rasped out, looking up at him, "can… can you tell me where I am?" I attempted to push myself up, arms awkward and stiff beneath me, but when I tried to straighten up my body buckled, and I collapsed to the ground. And it felt… it felt weird, not like falling when you lose your balance, but like my body just refused to get up.
The man smirked, revealing only a few chipped, yellow teeth, "Well, what have we here?" His hand shot out, faster than I could react, and grabbed me by the back of my shirt. Well, I thought it was my shirt, until he brought his hand up and it hurt, as though he had me by my hair. I yelped, the sound tearing from my throat before I could stop it, and it sounded incredibly weird to my ears. Like… like a dog, but that was impossible, wasn't it? I thrashed, weakly, in his grip, attempting to turn over onto my back so I could face him, but it was impossible with the grip he had, and I turned my head to face him. It shouldn't have been so easy, considering my neck wasn't exactly built for that, but somehow I found myself looking right in his ugly face, smelling the alcohol and nicotine on his breath.
"Ain't you scary lookin'?" he said contemplatively, reaching up with his free hand to scratch his scraggly beard. And I couldn't help but to furrow my brow at that-scary? I've been called many things, but I ain't ever been called scary. Short girls aren't exactly scary, after all. "Got you some sharp teeth, I bet."
'What?'
He reached towards me, and I dug in my feet, attempting to pull away, but the back of his hand struck my temple, and I whined again, going limp. My head throbbed even worse, the ache settling in behind my eyes, and my jaw opened easily as he pressed his thumb against my lips. His eyes scanned my mouth, and he must have been happy with what he saw, as an ugly smile broke his face. "What… what do you want with me?" I slurred, and surely I must have thought it instead, stunned from the blow, as my mouth didn't move.
But he didn't respond, and so I was even more sure I must have thought it, instead adjusting his grip on the back of my neck and beginning to haul me along the ground. I whined again, the sound wholly involuntary, and dug in my feet, but another blow to my head and I blissfully faded into oblivion.