Yawning, arms stretch toward the sky. The sun returns the gesture with a blinding glare.
"Damn it—it wasn't a dream."
A sigh escapes, low and bitter.
"Well, no use complaining."
After checking over the few belongings—not that there's much to begin with—it's time to move again. Render distance is low, and the mood worse, but somehow the lie is convincing enough: it's going to be a great day.
*Crunch.* *Crunch.* Grass flattens under each sluggish step. No real destination—just movement. Forward feels like the only option.
Hills roll gently into the distance, blades of grass shimmering in sunlight.
Behind, the world fades—no trail, no hills, just a void. Reality disappears the moment it's left behind.
Then—splash. A right foot sinks deep into cold mud, snapping the trance.
"That's right… this existed in Minecraft after all."
"HAHAHAHAHAHA—"
The laugh comes wild and broken, a burst of hysteria. Legs kick into motion, running blindly.
Seconds later—collapse. Face-first into a puddle.
"No… this can't be it. I'm starving… I hiccup—I… I can't take this anymore."
"Just kill me already!"
A clenched fist slams into the water, sending mud and droplets flying.
Crack. Teeth grind. A raw, guttural scream rips toward the sky.
"Damn you! You bastard!"
The one who caused this—promised torment in return. Promised suffering, slow and merciless.
Then it hits—the burn in the throat, the pounding in the skull.
Trembling hands scoop muddy water and force it down. Filthy, bitter, foul—but it's something.
Standing again, soaked and shivering. Mud stains every inch, water drips from cracked lips.
A glance confirms it—nothing but more emptiness.
Still, the legs move.
"Just keep moving, just keep moving." It becomes the only thought worth keeping.
The ache spreads. Hunger twists in the gut, but forward is the only way.
Hope hangs by a thread—clean water, real food, anything.
Time dissolves. The sun lowers again. Three days—barely endured. Forward remains the only direction. No going back. No home to return to.
Eventually, legs give out. A fall into muddy grass. Sleep takes hold like a trap.
The moon rises, casting pale light over the crumpled body. The face looks red, almost feverish. Muscles twitch—nightmares at work.
Then—gasping. Waking in panic.
Moments later, vomiting. Whatever remained inside is now gone. Only emptiness lingers.
Each step afterward feels heavier. Pain radiates from every joint.
Foot after foot, dragging through the endless stretch. No counting anymore. It doesn't help.
But then—rustle. Not grass. Something else.
Eyes widen. A shape in the distance. Knees hit the ground.
"*Hiccup* Yes *hiccup* it's a tree…"
The word feels like a miracle.
Silence lingers, filled only by the sight of faint leaves.
Hope returns, shaky but real. Each step toward the silhouette is agony—but it finally loads in.
"No, NO! That can't be all, why!?"
"Why can't I have a fucking break, why!?"
Splash.
Fists hammer the ground. Mud flies.
In front, only a one-block stump. Two branches. A few stubborn leaves.
"What can I do with that!? Huh?!"
"This can't be it." The body lifts again, fighting fatigue. A desperate sprint forward—searching.
Nothing. No other trees. No backup.
Slow steps return to the stump. A single apple rests at its base. Hands grab it greedily, stuffing it into a mouth too dry to chew.
Moments later—it all comes up.
"*Puke* *cough* to… *cough* much."
"Slow down, just slow down."
"Yeah, you're right. You're always right."
The apple disappears in small, deliberate bites. When it's gone, so is consciousness. Hours pass under the silent moon.
Eyes flutter open.
"Huh, what happened… right, the tree!"
Turning to look—it's still there. Not a dream. A rare smile stretches tired lips. A check through the branches reveals nothing new.
"Yeah, not surprising anymore." Movements stay slow—sudden ones hurt too much.
Then—a thought.
"If I grow more trees… I get more apples."
"Yep, let's do that."
"Sure."
Minutes spent studying the stump. Punching it—painful, not like the game. A single branch is broken off.
"Punching's not like the game. What now?"
Staring. First at the branch, then the stump. Back and forth. An idea grows—visions of forests, of food.
*Drip.*
"What the—?"
Looking up—dark clouds. Lightning flashes.
*Drip* *Drip* *Drip* *Drip*
"Rain. Yes. Finally."
Running from the stump, arms out, spinning in the cold rain. For a moment, joy.
But it grows violent.
*Crack.*
Turning too fast. Feet slip. The sky spins. Clamoring to get up, rushing back.
The wind rips through the leaves. Water hammers down like boulders.
"No, NO! It's my only hope!"
Grabbing the branch, arms stretch out, shielding the stump. Rain pounds relentlessly. Speaking becomes too painful.
(Feels like getting hit by rocks.)
*Crack.*
Exposed parts are shredded. Leaves scatter. The last tiny twig snaps like a bone.
And then—nothing. The storm passes.
"Huff, Huff"
Finally. Sunlight. Clear skies.
"That nearly killed me."
Surveying the damage. One leaf clings to life. The stump is cracked but intact.
Walking to a puddle. Turning to check—bare back marked red. Faded welts streak down.
The pants didn't survive. What's left gets torn off, tossed aside.
"Well, those lasted. I guess."
Carefully, what remains is gathered—splinters, fragments. The broken branch becomes a seed, planted a few feet from the stump.
"So, now what?"
"What day is it? Four?"
"Yeah. Ok, good. Time to explore."
*Splash* *Splash* *Splash*
Wading through mud and shallow water for what feels like forever. Suddenly—hesitation. Looking back.
"What if the way back gets lost?"
Returning, deep footprints are pressed into the mud as markers.
Venturing out again. Walking Miles forward. Still nothing.
"Fuck!"
A stomp sends a spray of filth into the face. Falling backward, exhaustion takes over again. The sun falls. The moon climbs. Day five.
Awaken to see something, the same shapes.
"Not this crap again."
|ᔑ↸↸ᒷ↸: ╎ℸ ̣ᒷᒲ, ᒲ𝙹ʖ.|
"It's longer now. Why?"
"Whatever. Doesn't matter."
A turn—and two surprises appear in front of him.
"Yes! My hopes were for nothing!"
Joyful screaming. The stump shows signs of life. A new sprout emerges.
The planted branch, though, looks dead.
"Fuck! Of course nothing goes my way."
"No, no. Calm down. The stump is growing again. That means apples."
Once it's confirmed safe, a new path begins—diagonally, toward nowhere.
More miles. Still nothing.
Then—swoosh.
Pain.
Slow turn. An arrow buries itself in the mud.
"Arrow?" swoosh.
"AGH!!"
A second one finds flesh—right leg. Collapsing on the ground. Another whistle past the ear.
Limping blindly. Heart racing. After what feels like hours of running the attacks stop.
"AGH, That—fuck, that hurts."
"Great! Now not only does my body want me dead, but the world itself too."
"This day couldn't possibly get worse."
A look upward—
*Drip* *Drip* *Drip* *Drip*
"Not this again."