Fandom: Original Fiction
Summary: I think this is where I got on…
Author's Notes: For the writerverse prompt of "Exit."
I think this is where I got on, just after that dark, twisted tree. Funny that I can't seem to get out the same way now—you'd think that would work, but it's like walking on a treadmill. Going faster or slower makes no difference, I still don't get anywhere.
I don't even know how I got here in the first place.
I've wandered down the road, looking for other ways out. There are barren hills and fallow fields, but no paths off to the side. The only noises I hear are the crunch of my feet and the tightness of my breathing. There are no birds or animals, and no breeze, just the faint odor of smoke.
Why can't I leave?
The road just moves with me if I try to walk away from it, and even the slightest glimpse of a break in the terrain becomes nothing more than a mirage. I've been out here for a long time, maybe days, maybe more. I'm pretty sure I haven't always been here, though it's getting harder and harder to remember.
My feet keep moving, sleepwalking their way onward. As I crest a hill, I see ruined vegetation crowding the edges of the road, almost too close to pass. Something about it is unsettling.
I tiptoe along, as nearly invisible as I can make myself be. One tree seems to reach for me, its blackened limbs like grasping fingers. I hold my breath and slip past, leaning away until I'm safely beyond it. It seems familiar, that tree, and the trick of movement feels like something I've done before, but when?
I think this is where I got on…