"It was never meant to be broken, Micael," said the voice once more, but was softer and sounded farther from just being behind his very door.
A mountain of distance, to be more than just precise. The voice was far from Jack's but it was similar to the child's but he doubted like rock for he knew that the child could shapeshift into something much more heavier and duller than the last, and so then he buggered his once more and went on to lean beside his curiosity "It was—" said the voice once more, this louder than it was when it was farther, though its whereabouts had never been cleared both by the voice and Micael, but he knew someone, or something, was there, and he opened the door abruptly which disrupted the very voice, and he immediately felt the cold, and it was no dining room, or their room, at all.
He saw a definite but unanticipating new horizons: Wicked and crooked trees, mountains, big boulders and some large twigs which had adorned the very still water at its base, let alone a dingy green-colored-like swamp, and it was ghost-quiet.
At the very north of the reaches was something he could barely see, but he had seen them anyhow. There were dead pine trees right beneath the feet of the mountainous range and a structure right past the rocky mountains: A tall whatsit which had a pale incandescent light from its very top, a heat of which he could feel right beneath his skin, and it reminded him of the world which Jack brought him unto, like the very incandescent light whose size was increasing, like a universe whose existence had ceased to even thrive.
The cold had touched his skin once more, this time colder, as well as the fact that it was much more different than the last, and he went on past his doorway. His first step was on mud, and he could feel how slippery it was unto his very sole, for he had not seen any footwear, however weary or dingy they might be, to wore in the very first instance. And still he continued to traverse the very distance of the alien reaches with his bare foot. He could feel the pebbles hitting his sole and some twigs trying to pierce beyond his very sole skin, of which he was afraid of from the very first time but he knew he should find the whereabouts of the voice, and it had uttered once more which bounced from the four dimensions of the ranges.
"You are ought to not break anything unusual, Aleck," and he heard it more on his left ear, of which he turned his torso towards west of the ranges, and he walked. He had anticipated that his feet would suffer from something spiky or precarious upon the very instance of hurting and giving him the distance of his and the voice'.
He walked past the swamp, of which was knee-deep and he could feel the cold which was colder from the very breeze which was hitting his forearms and neck, and ensued a sweat colder than what he was known and told of because of fear, curiosity, and being bewildered by a different yet déjà vu-like happenstance which had visited his very dreams behind the back of his mind.
"Where are you?" he shouted with the loudest of voice that he could without the extreme outcry while walking down the dingy swamps of which he felt a sting of a sort of twig down his sole, but he thought as something deceiving for it was all just a dream. "Somewhere you will never think of, Aleck," the voice replied with a loud whimper behind his voice, and Micael continued his travel.
He walked as fast as half a horse but as wary as a scared crow waiting for its very attack, and the pain had reached his very mind that his sole was indeed wounded by something he could not really tell. It was hurting, but he knew that it would hurt more when the bacteria and viruses would dwell on the slippage beneath his sole. "You're hurting me more like you think you do, guy," he shouted as another twig had impaled his sole and his face had shown how it felt, but he knew he had to continue, for stopping was simply killing the very end of his curiosity and then himself, eventually.
His face was asymmetrical that time as he was feeling another twig had reached his dermis, as well. His eyes were half closed and his cheeks were clenched like fists and his lips were whispering the very same indiscernible words of which only himself could hear, like a prisoner who had known the dire realization that he was eventually going to be dead in an hour or two, but then he continued.
"Is this another world I have to die into?" Micael asked while stepping forward along the dirty swamps which looked like no translucence of any degree, let alone it was so dirty but it was the only thing to do in order to reach the voice of which he thought was behind the lone wooden tree from afar, a mere fifty yards from him.
One step more and the voice had replied with ghost-quiet silence and the cold breeze was the only answer he could get, and he followed a reply no more. Few steps more, and the swamp was getting shallower and shallower as his feet moved forward, one after the other. He looked at the black starry sky, of which there was nothing but a full moon that gave him enough light to see what was afront him: A dark dead spooky tree, logs which seemed floating from the shallow swamp and a vulture which was masticating flesh with its bloody pointed beak from a lamb carcass beyond him, and he continued walking.
After walking a careful twenty yards, he had reached a fine soil of which the swamp had receded. Curious was he, Micael check on his feet to see his wounded sole and the very source of the throbbing pain he was enduring since his walk, and from there he saw a straight short cut on his sole and it was bleeding like a half-closed faucet on a kitchen sink. He could clearly see the blood dripping from his sole for the color was different from a dirty, opaque water where he forced himself to walk into. From his position, he grabbed a pinch soil from below his other foot and wiped it into the cut on his other sole, thinking that it would at least suffice the bleeding and stop it, of which it barely did. "Are you afraid swerving, Aleck? You once killed someone, and there you are afraid of killing another one," the voice voiced back loudly, which had caught Micael's attention.
He stepped his wounded sole once more and he had not winced a little, but his shoulder shrugged the littlest of movement. He tilted his head towards the lone dark tree, and he swerved his mind and traversing towards it, for he was sure the voice came from behind it. "Killed? What do you mean?" he replied while he stepped his first steps towards the tree, of which the swamp was just a heel-deep and shallower than the first.
...