642 Things #8 – Grasses

Rolling arid grasslands nestled in front of a dense forest was the first thing to greet his eyes. Grasses that ranged in height from just a few inches to stalks thick and strong that blew in the breeze, nearly twice his height. At the tip of those grasses sat wispy seeds, like a set of unkempt hair upon a man’s head.

It was one thing to view the land as you slowly traversed it, it was another to wake up in an unknown land and take it in for the first time. Considering his circumstances, he was lucky where he ended up. To his right, no more than a few hundred yards away, a small lake or pond sat calmly before the forest edge. Fresh water presumably. There was no coast in sight.

The edge of the forest seemed to go on infinitely in both directions. His only sense of scale was the treeline, shrinking proportionately the further he gazed. It must be late morning, he thought, the sun was near peak. He turned to survey the ground from which he had risen. A pack lay behind him, small, red and stuffed tightly, bulging in areas where it’s contents were snugly fit in. He couldn’t recall having a pack. In fact, he couldn’t recall a thing, other than who he was.

Looking up again, he turned and began to look all around him, scanning up and down and 360 degrees. Grassland as far as he could see behind him. The same forest going endlessly. It was as if he was dropped onto a map with no end, no civilization and was the first to set foot here.

He looked down at his base, the central sphere on which he rolled rocked gently as he swayed, testing it’s mobility. System check. Sphere stability, check. Internal fluid coolant system operational, check. Mapping, damaged. Not good. Hmm, he thought, which way to roll.

To read more of my writing prompts, read about the journey here and the other prompts as they appear here.

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