Decide against it...

Grey sighed, “Better to get up and get away, than not to sniff another day,” Grey then grasped his backpack again and attempted to heave it onto his back. But it didn’t budge. He tried again, yet to the same non-action effect. His arms felt like rubber by the time he was finally able to lift it onto his equally tired body. Then, he realized a most fatal error.

“Oh God no…” Grey breathed as he looked around him.

He fell to the ground in anguish, nearly flipping over as his cloth-bound counter-weight swung over his head. Regaining his posture, he grudgingly took to his grim task of picking up every piece of plastic container and pop can that he had so blissfully tossed around while lounging like a bum. He scrambled and collected it all up into a nice neat pile of rubbish, then shoved it all into his already bulging bag.

“God damn it, more stuff to carry…” He grumbled as he once against got to his feet. The flower beckoned to him still, yet he was too peeved about having to do all that squatting and hopping around for garbage to stop again. Besides, if he stopped, he was sure he would flip over like a tiddly-wink.

And so, our intrepid hero set off again, with a pack on his back, a winding path before him, and a belly full of chips and soda. Off he trotted at a brisk snail’s pace, not too keen on taking in the beautiful scenery.

A few hours later of ceaseless plodding, scuffing, and groaning and moaning on that long dusty path, he saw the semblance of buildings on the horizon. The sun was setting behind him, casting his shadow like a long ominous finger over the trail, pointing towards civilization. His backpack looked like it was an oblong boulder threatening to pulverize him at any second, which reflected what he was feeling perfectly.

“Atlas would be proud,” Grey thought bitterly, “Damn it, I need to stop thinking about all this crap…” But, of course, when someone has something that feels like they are hoisting the Earth on their shoulders, they tend to think about how good it will feel when they get to shrug it off.

However, luck seemed to finally smile on the poor hobo-like Grey. The town came into full view just over the crest of a small mound and he stopped to take it in. It was a village indeed, or more of a crossroads trading post by the looks of it. A handful of buildings clustered around a branching dirt road. Grey’s own trail joined those roads, widening from a spider silk thread to a real roadway.

Grey’s short pause only reminded him more of the weight on his shoulders, both figuratively and physically. But mostly physically. And the sight of the town only made his thoughts of getting that horrible container off his back, which made its weight double. He hurried down the path as fast as he could in the valley twilight towards the nearest building.

Panting, Grey stopped yet again in the middle of the crossroads. Without a second’s notice, he dropped to the ground, this time falling to the side as the whiplash of the pack caught up with him. He could swear he felt the earth tremble when it impacted the ground, and a sizable plume of dust floated irritably away.

He immediately sprang up and rolled his shoulders, “Rrrragghhh! Oh man… I’m glad I never signed up for the military… Or for Boy Scouts…” Grey was tempted to go on a full set of jobs he would not like to join which involved carrying large amounts of worthless crap, if only to proclaim his freedom from the backpack. But, his muscles ached too much to verbally complain.

Grey sat in the middle of the dusty road next to his sack. The sun was only a sliver on the hills around him, with the sky turning pink and purple with the dying light. He averted his attention to the town. There were no street lamps or cars anywhere in sight. A few old fashioned lanterns hung from the sides of buildings, and the buildings themselves looked roughly constructed out of logs and boards. Some of the paint was weathered and pealing off in places too.

Sitting there, looking around like a star-struck child, Grey looked rather like a fool. Luckily, no one was around to see him with holey jeans, a dirty shirt, and matted hair. It would seem that nature did a number on him, even though it was half a day of travel. Grey wasn’t what you would call a mountain man by far, and it was very clear by the way he was sitting just then. And just to punish him even more, cruel Nature decided to rain on Grey’s parade yet again.

He looked up at the sky to see the dying sun covered up by thick clouds. They came out of nowhere it seemed, and in an instant the air was full of bombarding drops of water.

“… Why me? Why right now?” Grey whimpered as his extremely dirty clothes became extremely wet. A small ray of hope emerged from his sunken state, and he reached into his backpack. He rummaged around, praying it was in there.

“Yes! Finally, planning ahead pays off,” He pulled out a trench coat, which he immediately put on. Dark brown and waterproof, Grey initially brought it because he thought it looked cool. So technically, it was purely dumb luck that he actually needed it for something over than strutting around.

Grey stood up, pulling the hood over his head. The rain pluttered harmlessly on the thick material, but it was a pretty loud annoying harmless pluttering. He knew he couldn’t stand out in the open for long, as the road was turning rather muddy, even now. There were only a few buildings, but they were each very distinct.

One building was what looked to be a post office, from the sign that dangled from its roof that said “Message Post”. Maybe good for finding out where the hell he was, then finding a way outta wherever the hell he was. Then there was the tavern, apparently called “The Rusty Barrel”. Charming name, but Grey’s stomach soon remembered that chips and pop are not enough to sustain him for long at all. It grumbled irritably when he turned his attention from that source of sustenance to the other building. All I said was “Buy Trade Sell”. Obviously a shop. And where there is a shop, there is a nosy owner who knows anything about everything, which would be very helpful for getting back home, not to mention supplies for the trip.

Grey’s head swiveled around over and over, torn between his eagerness to get home and the will to feast on something palpable. He had to go somewhere, as he could almost feel himself sinking slowly into the quickly liquefying road. Yet again, it was another decision that could very well change the course of his journey.