You slid through the body of squirming youth, towards the raised, wooden platform. The crowd was your age, teenagers, rubbing and twisting to get somewhere that wasn't affected by murderous heat. All suffered equally under the vengeance of hot dust pellets that bit the calfs of youth and adult alike.
Finally making your way to what you thought was the the front of the crowd, you stumbled, taken aback by the sudden lack of ground before you. From orange sand to boulder and cliff, you teetered between worlds. Past the steep drop of gray rock, a vast lake reflected the grand mountains of Wyoming, encircling you as vultures to fresh meat. Vibrant pines lined the lake, leaving little room for sandy shores.
Gaining far too much confidence from having not fallen to your surely inevitable death, you smugly crossed your arms, thinking you had regained balance. You hadn't. You fell straight backwards into someone that you thought was far too conveniently attractive to be real. He might as well have been Christ Incarnate for how much you stuttered your apology. He, however, did everything you could not, steadying your feet and, you won't believe this, speaking. Unfortunately, you didn't catch a single word, distracted by the circle of light that perfectly framed his perfect face. He must be an angel, a prophet. A very conveniently placed one too: you were suddenly blinded by the stupid wrath of that stupid ball of stupid fire that this beautiful head happened to be blocking before he had tilted his head at you, questioning your lack of response. Turns out, he had been talking for a good while before you finally came out of your coma.
"Shit--uh, sorry." Lame.
"Whatever," he furrowed his brows, detaching himself from you and taking a step away.
"The, uh, cliff there kinda just snuck up on me y'know?"
He shrugged, "Just be more careful."
You nodded, expression of masked defeat extremely present.
He shouldered through the crowd, very much so away from you.
Uttering a, "Fuck me," quite a bit louder than intended, you pulled your shoulders back and marched straight into a wall of the worst kind of teenagers: sweaty.
Now moist from determination, you finally found the actual front of the crowd. Raising your eyes slightly higher than eye-level you met the gaze of Sheriff Collins, the naïve usurper of Ol' Jenny's throne. Collins had overthrown him and begun his reign over the mountainous territory of Yellowstone just a year ago. He spoke with an air of importance that was grossly insufficient to the importance of personal hygiene among your fellow youth. Down wind of both the sand pellets and the teenage odor, you wondered why you had gone through the effort to get here, was a view really worth your heavy perspiration? Yes, you could see everything just fine, but weren't you also swimming in your own socks? Sighing at your incompetence, you let your eyes wander around the arc of the platform. The Angel stood stoic over most others, looking down on his companions. You ached to hear what they were saying but felt as though you had done enough for today. Tuning into Collins's speech, you zoned out rather quickly, deciding you'd rather study a happy little bird in one of the trees that lined the dusty clearing.
Suddenly, the youth started moving away from the platform. You swiveled, confused. Collins was leading them down the orange path from which they came, eventually arriving at the small Visitor Center cabin that jut out of the forest halfway down the Mountain. You found your eyes wandering back to the Angel, easily seen above the others just as the Mountain they stood on towered over its encircling kin.
He sensed your stare and met it with his. Keeping eye contact all the while, he proceeded to call his friends attention on you, the clumsy motherfucker that fell into his arms and was now staring him down, unmoving.
You...
Break eye contact - go to Chapter 2
Or
Keep eye contact - go to Chapter 3
Except I haven't written them yet 👉😎👉
