Cold, the traveller stood, on the brow of the rise. He was looking out across a vast sea of green, which went on to the very extent of the horizon. He'd been travelling for several days across open country, never coming into contact with anything but animals. He had on him a large back pack; in which he carried a tent, five days (now two) worth of food, and spare clothes. And strapped to the outside was a sleeping bag. He was hoping to get to the ocean, which he should come to after another day or so's walk. This was the end of day three, so he choose a suitable spot, up against a stone wall, and set out his tent. In which he rolled out his sleeping bag, eat his specified amount of food, and lay back. From out of his bag he produced a journal, he looked at it, tried to think of something to write, and then put it back away. After darkness and want of sleep crept over him he let his consciousness slip.
He suddenly awoke in the dead of night to the sound of a howl. It came from the distance, but he was confused by what he heard. It did not sound like a dog, and there were no wolves in this part of the world. The sound unnerved him. He lay in the darkness, seeing his own breath mist in front of his eyes. He was clinging to himself, praying that he would soon slip back into sleep and that he would wake to a normal day tomorrow.
When he did final sleep in was short and felt like nothing at all. When he awoke he was immediately confronted with a new sound, it was the sound of waves. He quickly unzipped his tent to find he was next to the sea. On a beach in fact. The place where he had made camp gone from underneath him. The sea was around ten feet away from him. He re-zipped the tent, hoping that this was all in his head. But after a short while he realised it wasn't. He slowed his breathing and stopped panicking. He quickly dressed and left the tent. He walked a little way along the beach he was on. He looked away from the sea but saw no end to the sand. He walked and walked and walked but saw no end to the scene, it was just beach, and sand. He walked back the way he came, but when he reached the end of his foot prints he did not find his tent. Nor did he find tracks in the sand, other than his, leading away from the spot.
He sat down in the sand, pondering what he should do. All there was to the place was sea and sand. He looked down at his hands and noticed they were dirty, so he took of his clothes and dived into the water, swimming out to sea. The dirt washed of him in the waves, and he trended water out at sea for nearly an hour. The cold bite actually feeling good, as the temperature on the beach was sweltering. He swam back to shore, but found there were no clothes waiting for him. He ran to the left and then back to the right, but saw nothing of them.
And so away he sat on the beach, and pondered what he should do. He had noting left but his body and his mind. He began to see shapes in the sea, and statues in the sand. Out in the waves he saw horses and deer, cantering towards him then crashing down into oblivion. And to the sand he saw towers, and domes. So vast that when they became so fine they crashed in on themselves.
It was then that he decided to get back up and walk away from the sea. But when he tried to get back to his body, he realised it to was gone.
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