Enderwalk

Part 11

Trigger Warnings in the description! Enjoy :)

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For a few days, he knew nothing but pain.

He couldn't remember how the pain started, but it was still all he knew.

He could hardly think at all, the pain was so great. He would think a word or two, then he would be plunged into darkness again.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since the pain started, but after a while he woke up and was able to look around without immediately feeling like the entire world collapsed on his head.

He was in a small, sunlit clearing with a dozen types of flowers and trees,  laying in a patch of ferns with a small river splashing to his left, and a box to the right.

And with that, he passed out again.

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The next time he woke it was completely dark, except for bright smudges in the sky. He took it that his vision was still foggy, but the pain had lessened, and for that he was grateful. His hearing felt fogged up as well,  not as bad as his sight, and through the smudgeness he could hear crickets chirping and frogs croaking.

Where am I? He thought. What happened?

Who am I?

He slowly sat up and tried to get to his feet, but his legs crumbled beneath him and he fell back into the ferns. "Uhhhhh..." He groaned. "What... the actual... heck."

He tried to stand again but this time his right hand bumped against a box. He looked over his shoulder to grasp the small, cardboard cube and brought it to himself, breathing hard and trying not to pass out again.

He passed out again.

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He woke up suddenly this time, and immediately noticed that the pain in the back of his head had receded to a dull throb. The box was still in his lap, so he decided to investigate it once in for all, while there was still daylight, and noticed a scrap of writing scrawled on one side of it.

Ranboo

Is that my name?

Am I Ranboo?

He shrugged. It's better than Bob.

"I am Ranboo." He said. "My name is Ranboo."

And I have to find somewhere to go.

And this is when Ranboo noticed that he was literally starving.

He stood up, and that act resulted in him bending over clutching his stomach, and much to his luck, there was an apple that by the looks of it had recently fallen from one of the oak trees.

Ranboo seized the scarlet, perfectly ripe fruit and sat back down by the box, trying not to die from inhaling the apple. Every bite felt like heaven flooding into his body, but it was over all too soon, as with most good things. So he sat back and just enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face, the softness of the ferns on his skin, and most of all, grateful for life. Then it occurred to him.

The box.

He had forgotten about the box.

Ranboo pulled the box closer to him and stroked the marks that made his name. Who wrote these? He would never know. Inside the box was lined with soft, cushiny material, and inside that.