Recently out of the Army, one of the first things to do after seeing friends and family is to go out and get a toy.  The sheer thrill of ordinary shopping is a treat.

So, down at the local Wally World, you're there to check out the newest XBox.  Its 'scriff-enabled' whatever that means.  There's not a clerk within five aisles in any direction to help you.

Figuring that since you really do intend to buy the thing, you deserve a glimpse at it before you plunk down quite a bit of dough, you open it up.

Yes, it looks awful nice.  Still not sure, you check out the well-beaten up demo model.

Outside a seasonal thunderstorm pounds in, and you decide you've got better things to do than run a quarter mile through rain across the parking lot to your car.

So you start playing, and enjoying the every day wonder of civilian life, and then Krack-ka-boom.  The power flickers, a collective groan/gasp fills the store, and you look up to smile reassuringly at a nearby lady.

And then you look back, and see a sizzling bolt lunge from the Xbox as the power comes back on in full.  You feel your legs collapse even as you tell them not too...

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You're awake.  Laying on your back.  Your eyes are shut, but even still a light is fearfully bright in your face.

Its hot in a baking kind of way.

You hear a shuh-shuh, and at first you can't place it because it makes no sense.  But then your brain processes it.

Waves. Waves on a beach.

Playtester
OOC: And Welcome to Worldwalker.

You're dreaming. You're actually asleep, in your bed, and you're dreaming.

"I'm dreaming." The vibrations of speech roll over my lips, the sensation is jarring and unexpected. I open my eyes, but immediately shut them again as the intense light of day assaults them. One at a time, my verious modes of sense turn back on and scream.

You're not dreaming.

I roll over, a long and difficult process. My breathing is heavy, my heart pounding, less from exhaustion and more out of fear of what I'll discover.

With my body between my face and the sun, I open my eyes again, and look around.

The hard-packed beach sand under your fingers gives way to fluffy white sand as your eyes track up to the edge of the jungle where giant ferns tree-high, and palmetto trees compete with small mangrove trees for space at the edge.

The beach extends out to your right about a hundred yards before being hidden by an inward curve of land, and to your left hand you see it goes on for more than a mile.

A tiny crab crawls over your right foot.  A sense of familiarity tugs at you.  The air smells of dead fish and rotting weeds.

Its got to be at least ninety degrees out.

PT

You're Johnny Castaway. You're dreaming.

With cautious effort, I push up from the sand and rock back on my knees, I give the crab a curious glance, then gently bat it away. Beads of sweat roll into my eyes. It takes several long moments to register the discomfort.

You're not dreaming.

I take off my coat, an act of instinct more than deliberate action, and let it flop onto the sand next to me. "Why do I know this? Where am I?" Only the sea answers. I stand and brush the sand from my pants. I turn about, this way and that, examining the sand at my feet and the ocean beyond. Looking for clues, answers, or my sanity.

The ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see. In the far distance, you see something that is probably a whale breach, or it could be an odd reflection off the waves.   There are dozens of small crabs about, and streamers of seaweed dot the beach every few feet.  A starfish the size of a dinner plate is half out of the water about ten feet to your left.

And beyond that is a strange feeling of something familiar that way.  Which should be impossible, but then this whole situation is impossible.

Looking up at the jungle, the thing that strikes you the most is just how large the ferns are.  Forty feet high one is, and while its bigger than the others you see, its not by all that much.

PT

I bend down, pick up my coat, and fold it over my arm. Fighting fear and confusion, I decide to do what I always do when stressed: Take a walk. I let the sense of familiarity take hold of my actions, and let it guide me in whatever direction seems best.

You're not dreaming.

As I walk I try to regain my composure. I focus on what I'm feeling, on the sensations of the world around me. I stop and take off my shoes and socks, the sand is hot, but the pain keeps me focused. I continue down the beach. Not thinking, just sensing, lowering my heartrate. The time for thinking will come soon, but for now, I just walk.

The walk in the hot sand helps.  You can feel yourself calming.  Soon enough you've switched to walking on the verge of the water where its more hard-packed and cooler.

And then you see something up ahead of you.  Its near the jungle edge, in the shade of a great palmetto bush.

It looks vague familiar.  Its the pile of stuff you had in the back seat of your trunk hoping for a camping trip soon.

Your breath quickens...

PT

Reality distorted. You're dreaming.

I burst into a sprint, flying accross the sand as though the objects in my sight would be swallowed by the earth were I not.

When I reach the pile I fall to my knees before it and begin digging through it. I don't know what I'm looking for, but it's a clue to my new reality, and so I dig. As I examine the pile, I take an inventory.

I find my old hat: a wide-brimmed leather job that looks like it came out of the Australian bush. I put it on, the shade it provides is relieving.

You're not dreaming.

After I finish my inventory, I put it all on, making sure to take off my jeans and replace them with a pair of loose cargo-pants.

Once done, I stand and look around. I still haven't made any decision, or realy given anything much thought. I let my instincts guide me. I'm thirsty, it's hot, my Camel Bak is empty.

I need to find drinking water.

I walk back to the shore and look inland, looking to see if there are any hills or mountains over the treeline. I also glance up and down the beach, attempting to guage which way would be the most likely direction to find fresh water.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:59, Wed 07 June 2006.

Standing near the crashing waves, you see a slight rise of land to your left as you breathe in the mild stench of lake water.

Its not really that you see a hill, but the trees and ferns seem taller in that direction.

PT

Homing in on the smell of the lake, I walk back up the beach, put on my shoes, unsheath my machette, and follow my nose.

The lake smell is coming from the ocean.  You bend over, and taste it.

Fresh water.

PT

I tilt my head to the side like a curious animal. "Lake Victoria. It has to be. Unless there's another massive lake in a jungle that I'm not aware of."

But how did you get here? A question you can't answer. Stop thinking about it.

I take an hour to collect various sturdy branches, leaves, and rocks from the treeline and assemble them into a large arrow that should be visible from the air, pointing down the beach in whatever direction I best guage to be the most north.

With my shoes off, I fill my Camel-Bak and begin walking once more, in the direction of the pointing arrow, keeping an eye out for trees bearing fruit. I figure, if I walk far enough, I'll come to either civilization or the head of the Nile.

There is not a whole lot of rocks, but you find plenty of branches and leaves.  By the time you're done, the arrow extends for forty yards.

You see a large bramble area of bushes with red berries after about a mile walking.  The berries are multi-section things, and you can see splotches of them on the ground.  Furry caterpillars seem to be thriving on the bushes, and making meals of it.

And a bit further you see enormous coconut trees.

The scale is a bit daunting.  Seventy feet high, and the coconuts look to be the size of basketballs.

PT