There's really no reason for me to stay in town. If I stay there I have to get a job, so I can buy a house, so I can play nice with the neighbours and hit on the pretty girl down the road, and at night I can get robbed by the neighbours. For the most part, that seems like a stupid idea; not just the part about getting robbed, but the part of being owned by one's possessions, profession and relationships.

So I sleep in the hills. Nobody can rob you if they don't know where you live. That, and I don't have to waste my days working. I can scavenge and hunt for my food. I can bathe in the current. I go into town sometimes, if I salvage hillside metal debris. I go to the pawn shop, sell my find, and then buy some wine. Then I'm in quite the mood to spend a few hours with the pretty girl in town. (She's quite the pushover with a bit of wine in her.)

I probably could be a shepherd, but I don't think the sheep would listen to me. They'd probably all run off helter skelter, even if I told them what they should do to remain happy and healthy. All the sheep will end up dead sooner or later, and I'd have nothing left but grief. Seems like a smarter idea not to try and be a shepherd.

I don't own much; a cloak to wrap up in on a cold night, a hunting knife, a weathered old book given to me by a friend, a worn-out cap, a pair of walking sandals, and a bag to keep these in. On warm nights I put everything I own in the bag and use it as a pillow. I had a scare a few years back from a grizzly bear, so I keep the hunting knife close by, just in case.

With my back to the town and my face to the setting sun, I stand on the top of one of the hills. There's an apple tree nearby, and I pluck one and chew on it thoughtfully as I watch the sun go down on the green horizon.

Once when I was a child, I heard an elder speak of his youth, when he heard an old man tell of a time when he was younger, verbatim several generations, when the sky was not green. According to this long-dead Ancient, the earth used to be a fertile, flourishing planet. Humanity stretched from corner to corner, and had advanced to such a state where travel by foot was uneccessary; almost obsolete. There were so many people that you couldn't even learn everybody's name. There were more people than there were rings in the largest tree; more people than hairs atop one's head. There were even more people than there were candles in the candle shoppe.

But there were many races, all living against eachother. Each, with so much power, and each wanting to rule everything. A war broke out, but ended just as fast, leaving the planet destroyed and lifeless. An entire planet committed suicide via their own fiery noose. Everything died, everyone died, except a very small village in the hills.

Or so, that was the elder's explanation for why the sky is green. Whether he was telling the truth or just talking, it doesn't matter. The grass is green, apples can be green when they're unripe, and the sky is green. That is the way things are. What has happened can not unhappen, and what is going to happen tomorrow will happen just the same.

But, this story does explain why just outside the hills, the land is dead and sooty, covered in unimaginable sad colors and strange, twisted shapes. I think I'm the only human who has ever travelled that far from town, and I wish I hadn't. There is nothing but pain and grief in the wastelands outside the hills.

I whip the apple core in the direction of town before settling down for the night. Lying on my back, I squint through the red murky haze that floats way, high above me. I can almost see through the red; almost see the shiny, white speckles floating way out, beyond earth. ... But not quite.

* * *

-Originally posted March 5th 2007

EDIT: I REALLY wanted to write more to this story. I tried a little while ago, but the second chapter seemed really trite in comparison. I wanted it to be deep and meaningful, but it seemed.. hokey. Some day when I have the time I REALLY need to write a second chapter.