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Chapter 2: Where Is My Yellow Brick Road? (minor edit on 8-12-25)
🕑 Added 2025-07-23 21:32:16 +0000 UTCChapter 2: Where Is My Yellow Brick Road? I woke up to the sound of birdsong and the damp earth. I was face down, and my head pounded. Why w
Chapter 2: Where Is My Yellow Brick Road?
I woke up to the sound of birdsong and the damp earth. I was face down, and my head pounded. Why was I naked? I rolled over, and I think it had just rained because I was covered in mud and pine needles. As I moved, the birds stopped their song. The trees above me were green and lush, but wasn't it fall?
I tried to stand, but I felt every bruise, every scrape. My ribs ached. My throat was dry as sand. Had I gotten into a fight? I blinked slowly, sunlight stabbing into my skull. Memories came back slowly to the sorority house. The blondes—no two blondes.
I couldn’t help but smile at the kissing and fondling. Then everything else came back and my smile vanished. Damn, my night had been going too well. I recalled taking something and slowly... Shit, it didn't matter. I needed to find my way back to the city. I wouldn't even press charges if my car were fine. I just hoped I still had a job. I took a tentative step, then another.
The trees were tall—taller than anything I had ever remembered. I thought I had been in a corn field, but maybe I was too fucked up to remember clearly. The trunks were thick and furrowed with age. Pain fired down my spine and into my legs. I stumbled into one of the trees. My arms were scratched raw by the bark. My fingers were black with dirt. I was completely naked and at least had enough sense to keep my lower half from being savaged by the tree.
What the hell was wrong with me? Maybe I should press charges. Hadn't there been a barn? Why was I naked? All I saw were thick pine trees, with needles carpeting the ground as far as I could see. Maybe they came back and dropped me somewhere else. I bet it was Asshole #1 who gave me the pill and suggested driving me out here. I was absolutely pressing charges against that fucker.
I turned in a slow circle, wincing as I did. The forest stretched in every direction. No corolla. No road. No tire tracks. No barn. That's right, I was no longer in the barn, so my car was not here.
“HELLO!?” I shouted. It came out as a croak. Nothing answered but a crow cawing from somewhere high above.
I staggered forward. Every movement sent sparks of pain through my legs. My feet were unprotected, and soon bleeding. The pine needles initially helped, but soon the forest floor became jagged. Rocks. Roots. Hidden thorns. My vision felt off, and every step was a test.
I needed water, food, and clothes. But more than anything, I needed to know I wasn’t alone out here.
I followed the faintest sign of a trail. Maybe an animal or a human. It was barely there, a slightly flattened path through the brush. Branches scraped my face. The wind was sharp, but the sun still let warmth through the trees.
Time lost meaning. I had no watch, and the sun slipped between the trees like a thief taking the warmth. Hunger settled in my gut, and fatigue weighed on my limbs. My legs trembled with every step, but I couldn’t stop. I needed to find a road. The deeper I walked, the stranger the forest became. Mushrooms grew in odd colors, but maybe that was a lingering effect of the drug. Vines coiled in unnatural shapes. Odd birds sat still, too still, watching my progress.
A low growl made me freeze. I spun, heart pounding, scanning the shadows. A wild dog, maybe, or a wolf. They had released wolves in the state a few years back, but I thought a farmer got arrested for shooting them all. It was too hard to think, so I found a heavy stick and gripped it tightly as I continued.
I had the sensation of being watched. My paranoia had me jumping at shadows and moving faster to find a road before dark. They couldn't have carried me too far into the woods—but maybe I was going in the wrong direction. Fuck, how long had I been walking? Three, four hours? I didn’t have the energy to backtrack.
Relief washed over me when the trail widened just enough to show signs of recent use. Something big had gone through here—maybe an animal, maybe people. I kept going.
I came to a stream. The water was cold and clear, running over smooth stones. I dropped to my knees and drank like a wild animal. The cold burned my throat, but it was the first relief I’d felt. I drank so much that I vomited into the stream. My stomach was empty of everything but bile, so I must have been unconscious for a long time. I coughed and spat for a minute before washing my face and drinking more slowly this time. Even if the water was fouled, I didn't have a choice.
I cupped my hands and splashed my face. My reflection in the stream was barely recognizable. My lips were cracked. My dark hair felt stiff. I had scratches across my cheek and shoulder. Something in my eyes looked… off. The deep blue seemed brighter, like there was an actual soul behind them. “Get it together,” I whispered.
Maybe I was still high, still hallucinating. That had to be it. The Golden Teacher, or whatever the guy gave me, had hit harder than expected. Maybe I was lying in a hospital somewhere, tubes in my arms, and creating this in my head. But the pain felt too real. I slapped my face. It stung and I didn't wake it up. “Shit,” I lamented the truth.
I kept walking as the sun moved across the sky. Hours went by. My legs felt like jelly. My mouth went dry again. I had no sense of direction, and the trees seemed to stretch on forever. Then I smelled something — smoke.
Not the kind from a campfire, but something warm and inviting. It was woodsmoke and the smell of cooking meat, and my stomach growled in approval. I pushed onward, through a dense thicket and up a rise. And there it was, the origin of the desires, and it was a village. I nearly collapsed in relief and would have cried if my body could spare the water. Then reality caught up with me.
The village sat nestled in a clearing. Thatched roofs, wattle and daub walls, and a few stone chimneys lazily smoking into the air. Chickens pecked at the ground, and a dog barked in the distance. A blacksmith's hammer rang out rhythmically. My legs buckled, and my knees slammed into the ground hard.
It wasn’t just the hunger or exhaustion. It was the wrongness of the place. No cars. No power lines. No satellite dishes. It was like I had stumbled into the set of a Renaissance fair. Only there were no speakers. No exit signs. No vendors peddling food in sneakers. Just villagers in long tunics and leather aprons, going about their business.
I watched them for a long time from the woods. There was a well in the town square. A woman with a clay jug filled it while a little boy clung to her skirts. A man carried firewood on his back. A young girl tossed scraps to chickens. They were calm. Normal. Not acting.
I wasn’t on Earth anymore. Not modern Earth, anyway. No, it had to be Earth. Was this some cult compound? An extreme naturalist commune? Maybe a cannibal cult like in a horror movie. I had no choice but to find out. I limped down the hill, my hands covering my groin, desperate to find clothes before I ran into anyone.
Too late. The first person to spot me was the boy by the well. He dropped his wooden toy and stared. His mouth opened in a silent ‘o.’ Then he screamed, and people turned. I held up my hands. “Wait! I’m not—”
Someone shouted harshly in a language I didn’t understand. A man ran toward me with a pitchfork. Another followed with a net. I tried to run, but my legs gave out from exhaustion. They closed in on me in seconds. There were four of them—one had a hooked staff, like the kind shepherds use, and he used it to get my attention by striking my head. I realized I was supposed to stop and not resist. Their clothes were rough, stained from work. Their expressions were anything but kind.
One shouted something again. When I didn’t answer, he slapped me across the face. Stars exploded behind my eyes. “I don’t understand!” I gasped. “English! Do you speak English?”
They didn’t. Or they didn’t care. The net came down over me. I thrashed, but they tied my wrists with coarse rope, looped something around my neck like a leash, and dragged me through the dirt toward the village. More villagers gathered. Women covered their children’s eyes. Men whispered. One old man made a gesture like warding off evil. They knew I didn’t belong here.
They threw me into a wooden pen near the edge of town. It stank of goats, mold, and shit. The floor was packed dirt. I landed hard, knees first. A gate slammed behind me and was secured with a thick bar of wood. They left me there as the sun dipped low behind the trees. My whole body trembled the entire night.
It was late at night when a man approached me. He was dressed too well to be a villager. He wore a dark cloak with red trim. His hair was pulled back into a tight braid. A scar ran down the left side of his face, through his eye socket covered by a polished bronze plate. He stared at me with his single remaining eye.
Then he said something I didn’t understand. He repeated it. When I didn’t answer, he sighed and knelt outside the gate. His hand went under his robes, and I hoped he was going to give me food, but he spoke again. “Name,” he said in heavily accented English.
I blinked in surprise. “Thomas.” My heart raced with hope.
He nodded, satisfied. Then he asked, “Can you fight?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
He pointed at me. “You fight or you die.” I stared at him. The man stood up. He signaled to someone behind him. A second figure stepped out of the shadows—a woman in a crimson sash, holding a whip. The man tapped the bars. “I have bought you. Tomorrow, Thomas. We will take you to my ludus.” Then he left.
The woman stood there a moment longer. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and amusement. She tossed me a hunk of bread and a flask of water. I devoured them without thinking. I had no choice. The water was stale and had an acidic taste. The bread was at least warm and fresh. When I finished my meal, I realized I was alone again.
My relief at finding people was gone as the chill of the night air penetrated my flesh. My mind kept trying to process what was happening, but I had never been good at problem solving — creating problems, yes. Solving them, no. Anxiety started to well up, and it was only my immense fatigue that allowed me to sleep.
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Comments
Erick Thiemke
yes, the First Legion timeline matched for Eryk. so I changed the into to mid 80s for this. I think the characters might meet and I want Thomas to be in his 60s
Michelle H
So do the time lines have to match? Maybe it was 40 years on Eryk’s world but only 10 years earlier than Eryk’s time on Earth?
Karnnie
Just a heads up, the late 80's, early 90's did not have cell phones, well not smartphones. The Motorola MicroTac was the most popular cell phone in 89 and it was not small, not at all. Would fit in a purse but not in a pocket. Radios were still using cassettes and home computers were not a thing yet.
Ivan Kanewske
Or he could get a gladiator name, tie the stories together in another way
Ivan Kanewske
May be 40 years prior, so he would be in his 60s, but with essences he could still be good
Ivan Kanewske
Drawing a brain fart, what was the name of the gladiator that he trained with in the capital?
Erick Thiemke
it is supposed to be, yes
Ivan Kanewske
Is it the same barn as eryk went into?
