Mike’s Musings - Indefinite Precision

Before he could even open his eyes his gut was telling him "This is not a good place to be." His gut was also telling him "There is something very wrong in here, what did you do to me?"

Time to bite the bullet and find out what's happening.

He opened his eyes to a widescreen contrast, half black, half... sky? Yeah, that must be the sky. Am I moving?
There was no still point of reference in his line of sight. Just sky and black. His legs and arms tensed reflexively; be still, am I moving?

Minutes passed.

An unreliable breeze came down, lazily pouring through his clothes and organs like he was an old screen door. Or some ancient sponge.

Okay, definitely not moving. Just the sky.
Still unable to make out what the black half was.
His eyes weren't bringing back enough information.
touch will work.

He felt an eerie sensation as he slowly raised his arm, like a puppeteer with a severe fever who showed up for work anyway.
He noticed a series of different colored stamps on the back of his hand. A clue.

His shaky fingers brushed tentatively across the black.
It's plastic.
Hard, black plastic.

He could actually feel that tiny brain piston sparking up, making the connection, stopping the wheels of confusion in his head the way a hockey stick stops a wobbly ceiling fan.

I'm in the back of a truck.
His gut: "Yes... a truck!"
Then reason stepped in. "Halt. Who do you know with a truck?"
Good question.

He started cross-referencing the old mind-Rolodex but his thoughts mechanically jumped rails.
Was this dawn? Or dusk?
He stared at the sky again for several minutes.
Very still. Trying to get a reading. Discerning.
Straining to detect any minor fluctuation in light levels.
Futile.

Fuck it. I'll just wait.
If it's dawn I'll stay for a while, try to get a hold on things. If it gets any darker, I flee, quick and easy.
No questions, no answers.
Reason: "What if some..."
Shut up.
Time to think about something else.

image by www.stanmiller.info/photographs