Essay by AngelusTVSUniversity, Master'sA, May 2005

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The green sun set was still far off, but it was already dropping below any temperature that he could stand. The days had been getting increasingly colder, strange to think that last year around this time it was well above a hundred.

"The machines must be back on again," he thought to himself. He had passed by the great workshop a few months ago to collect the bugs that always swarmed there. He had at least a few weeks supply left, probably longer considering he rather go hungry than to eat those dry squishy things. He felt like he was eating his shoes, again. He decided that he better make camp before the winds brought the cloud closer to his location when he heard a loud noise directly behind him.

His eyes opened and he was in one of the boxes. Something was wrong though, he never slept in boxes anymore since the gangs had taken them over years ago.

And there was light, all around him but no source. He tried to shake off the effects of the dream, if it was a dream. He never dreamed about his life as an adult, who would want to. It was always about his childhood, before the great war that took his life away. No something was very wrong here. He got off the slab that he was laying on and quickly reached for his sword; it wasn't there. In fact nothing was there. He was completely naked. He wasn't cold either, as he was in his dream. Nor was he hot. He was just fine, which was never an occurrence anymore. Extremity is normality and when one is always preparing for one of the other being fine is probably about the scariest thing one can be. None the less he...