Dropped in the Zone

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Dropped in the Zone

by Blatant Appeal

(Rough Draft)

Chapter 1

He wasn’t wearing his own clothes. Alac didn’t know where he was or how he got there. In fact he couldn’t really think through the blinding pain in his head. But he did know he wasn’t in his own clothes. The information wasn’t helpful.

“Think!” His mind shouted at him before the pain in his head exploded, again.

Hours, eons, or seconds later he realized that more than just his head hurt. He took it as a favorable sign that he could feel anything but the agony shooting through his skull. A cramping wave of pain tried to draw his body into a knot. Unfortunately, parts of him didn’t respond. His right ankle seemed to be caught. On reflection, he couldn’t feel that foot.

His eyes had been closed with the pain of conscious thought. Trying to open his eyes to see about his foot forced him to the edge of panic. He thought his eyes were open. He had commanded them to open, but the view wasn’t any different. Black nothingness.

“Think! Think! Think!” He knew his ears were working because heard his own voice moan the words. The movement of his chin ground dirt into the cheek he was lying on and he could feel scratches on his face. Pulling his mind out of the black well of agony he forced himself to take inventory of every sensation. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

He could hear his own labored breathing. Spitting out some debris, he was encouraged to discovered he had voluntary movement. Another spasm of pain caught him. This time he made a better effort to stay aware of his surroundings. A covering of some sort seemed to be hooded over the back of his head, dragging against his hair. Trying to move his hands, he realized they were somehow under him and he was lying mostly face down.

Mostly?

The effort of additional thought caused hot sparks of agony to shoot through his temples as he tried to make sense of his position. In a temporary spurt of movement he tried to roll over. Fresh pain spearing up his right leg jolted that idea out of him. When he could catch his breath again, he tried moving his left leg. The only direction it would go was straight back. He seemed to be lying not only on his stomach, but also in a head down position. He rocked gently to one side, keeping his right leg as still as possible and managed to pull his left arm out from its trapped position. Able to think about how it felt, he realized his hands had been inserted into the front of the waist band of the pants he was wearing. He eased his right arm out. As the improved circulation shot a renewed blood supply into his arms and out of his head, he lost consciousness.

Insistent throbbing in his head and heat scorching his back greeted his next moment of lucidity. Making another attempt to see seemed in order. He was very relieved when, although he couldn’t make out an image, it wasn’t the nothingness of before.

His eyeglasses were gone. No wonder things were fuzzy. If that were not enough, evidently his head was covered with what seemed to be the tail of his shirt, hitched over his head. The heat on his back was from the sun burning his exposed skin.

Exposed skin. He had better do something about that. He burned easily.

Alac thought about that a moment. Of all of the things to think about in a situation like this, he would have thought a sunburn the least of his problems. It encouraged him to find his sense of humor starting to respond. Most people didn’t think he had one. It wasn’t his fault he found the dark side of life amusing. He preferred to call it a study in irony. After all, everyone needs a hobby.

He wasn’t wearing his own clothes. It had taken him quite a while to get his foot released and be in a position to inspect himself properly for damage. Sitting in the meager shade of the cliff face, he took a break from his efforts. He didn’t know why the puzzle of his clothing bothered him more than the rest of his situation. Perhaps it was more personal. Someone had placed their hands on him.

Intimately. While he was unaware.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the clothes. They were flimsy ripped up coverings and reeked of a seven day to seven month drunken orgy…with women…from the smell of them. He had never indulged in an orgy in his life so he wasn’t qualified to tell, but in the absence of anything else to wear, he had to stay in them.

Looking back up the short cliff he had been pushed off, he surmised it was a wonder he had lived at all. Although only about twenty feet tall it had some rock protrusions that had banged his head, and captured his right foot.

He ran through his inventory.

Nothing was broken, every part of his body was bruised. Only a little skin had been abrased until it oozed blood. Most of the scraped parts were dried. His right foot was swollen to twice it’s normal size. He hadn’t found his right shoe.

Yet.

His glasses were scratched a little and bent, but he was thankful to have found them. From the streak of blood and extreme tenderness he could feel next to his left eye, he felt grateful to have been wearing them when he fell. He shivered, realizing he had could have impaled that eye on something during his fall on the way to the bottom of the cliff face.

Looking up at the scrubby bushes that adorned the cliff face, he was grateful they had managed to cling to life in such a location. His eyes could follow the trail of broken branches that marked his precipitous journey down the cliff side. They had undoubtedly saved his life as providence had spared his eyesight.

He had no idea where he was, how he got there, or when. All good questions, but others needed answers sooner.

Why was he pushed off a cliff?

How soon was someone going to find him?

Did he want them to?

Had he made a serious error somewhere? He didn’t get here by accident. Alac wondered if he had been mistaken for someone else. How could he have been? Eyeing his swollen foot, he thought about how he normally looked. He didn’t see how anyone could mistake him for anyone else. If nothing else, his glasses would have made that apparent. How many six foot one extremely slender, black haired men with eyes that looked black and wore glasses could there be?

Alac was tall enough to be thought adequate, but his whip-like body made him look taller. He had tried earlier in his life to add some serious muscle to his frame. It hadn’t worked. He had remained thin, but very strong.

Bringing his thoughts back to his situation, he realized he was thirsty. There didn’t seem to be any water close enough to crawl to and he didn’t feel up to doing more than sitting upright at the moment. Stiffly moving his head, he tried to sit more upright. His hand squished into something. Startled, or moving as quickly as someone in his position could, he examined what he had gotten into.

It looked like squished berries of some kind. He sniffed the gritty goo on his hand. It smelled fruit-like. Tentatively sticking his tongue out for a taste, the flavor of tart and sweet eased itself over the tip. Moisture gathered quickly as his mouth dampened at the taste. Looking around for a whole one, he popped it into his mouth and savored the additional juice and sweetness.

He leaned back with his eyes closed. When that sweet watery berry was history he opened his eyes to look for another. It appeared he could be grateful for the bushes for also bearing fruit. It looked like he had knocked off quite a few along with a some branches when he fell. Maybe, that was what he was sitting on. Scootching slowly to keep from jarring his foot, he moved to the side and found he had been on a branch. The fruit was squished into the backside of his pants. He decided to look for others. With this set of clothing there wasn’t any telling where the seat had been.

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Last modified: April 24, 2005