Chapter 1
Skeletal Mandible structures outstretched far into the horizon. A sun sat on its descent, it gave everything an orange and red hue. A man fell from the sky, colliding atop a black glassy tower.
“Welcome friend." a man in rags greeted the man, black eyebags consumed the ragged man's entire face. His chest had holes in it from which entrails hung out. His smile was crooked, it was the smile of one who was desperate to be happy. The entire sight sickened the newcomer, it was as if the air had been poisoned by rot.
“What the fuck are you? Where the hell am I?" The newcomer yelled, he stepped back from the freakish sight, almost falling off the side but the ragged man caught him. The newcomer's stomach felt sickly, he'd never felt this hungry before, his throat reflected the dry desert around him, and his head expressed a terrible pain.
“You're dead, everyone here is. Was it a gunshot?" It came out rehearsed, it was as if he'd answered those questions hundreds of times. He pointed to his forehead, the same spot the newcomer's headache originated.
“Gunshot?" The newcomer put his hand up to his own head, accidentally fingering a hole, it was excruciating for the newcomer and disturbing to the ragged man. The inside contorted around his finger and he felt a cold piece of metal within. His entire body was cold despite the burning floor and blazing sun. "What the hell are you talking about? Who the hell are you?"
“I'm a greeter, I've waited for so long and I fear when I'll go back." The greeter spoke as if the context of this land was common knowledge.
“Go back where?" The newcomer was puzzled and in pain, it was as if god had done a terrible prank and he was the only one not in on it.
“Down there" he pointed at the wasteland-esque nightmare. "Read the rocks, it's the only entertainment here. Then wait, it'll take forever but eventually you'll wake up here again, to greet others. It's the only way you'll see another person again." He seemed apprehensive for a moment then continued. "When I first came here I was greeted by a Viking. I waited for so long down there, you get used to the pain and heat, it's the loneliness that'll kill you." He sighed, "I died in 1609 and I only just got my turn up here, just stay sane, no matter how long it takes you'll be here one day. Do anything you can to make it more bearable, I know I did." The mysteriousness of his last sentence echoed in the mind of the newcomer.
The two men fell into silence, one was overwhelmed by the shock and pain of it all, the other saddened for he knew any second now his newfound companion would be gone, never seen by him again. The greeter went to ask the other man's name, but before the words could come out the first man, the one who was still reeling from an indescribable feeling that infected all his senses: disappeared. A scream could be heard as a new man fell from the sky onto the platform, the cycle of it all would repeat again with the same emotions, questions, and rehearsed answers.
In the blink of an eye the man was laying in boiling sand, he was surrounded by nothing but sand and clay. If only he'd died in shoes he could've spared his soles. Standing up made every fleshy bit in his stomach growl a noise which could deafen a bat. He may not have even been conscious of it but he repeatedly swallowed his saliva in an attempt to cure the dehydration, the gross consequence of which was a boiling mess of the last bites of food and drooling of liquid he'd consumed before death. The dehydration and starvation got much worse. In a pathetic attempt to retain his lost meal he dropped to his hands and knees, drinking the witches concoction, it was as if the world was a cauldron and his bile was soup. His tongue singed at the boiling goop, his taste buds rejected the notion of swallowing it so tremendously he once again vomited, this time having no energy and falling face first into disgust. The man wasn't passed out, sleep wasn't allowed in this alien place but exhaustion remained, the man couldn't move his body, he simply sat and watched as his own boiling vomit scalded his face.
Miraculously the man found energy once again as he stood up, his face stuck to the sand, some of it being ripped off. The parts of his face that remained have become embroidered with sand, even if he could find another person they would run at the site of him. His belly still rumbled, it'd likely cannibalize upon itself at any moment. Each step was like a monumental event, the man was slowly, very slowly, incredibly slowly approaching rocks. The rock was red and orange, same as everything else. Various messages could be seen etched and carved, almost all of them in different languages except one, it read "god is dead" the design was more closely related to street graffiti than a note. In the distance the man spotted a gray blob, it was the only landmark besides rocks.
