The voice inside my head said follow me instead.
Gasping for air he looked around disoriented, a large statue like man was carrying him over his right shoulder and another boy over his left. The other boy laid there limp until they arrived at the shore line and the man began to beat the boys chest. He could hear each time a rib cracked yet that did not stop the man from pushing down on the lifeless boys chest. After about 45 seconds the man looked up at the boy who had survived. “Looks like we lost one” he grunted before commanding the survivor to follow him back to camp. This was the only memory the boy could look back upon. So many questions, but that didn’t matter now. He was a marcher now.
*mysteriously missing paragraph*
The voice reached out to him once more and this time without hesitating, he bolted to his left. There was nothing there besides beach and some sand dunes to go to so he started to climb the sandy mountains. When the sounds began to fade away he stopped running just long enough to turn around and catch the scene below him. His line was no longer a line, more of a clump with a trail of dead bodies. The marchers were walking into their watery grave and they didn’t seem to realize what was going on.
He couldn’t hear the voice anymore, no matter how hard he tried. When night fell, he began to get frustrated, yelling at the sky, demanding answers. Yet no answers were given. The next morning, dazed and confused, he looked for anything that was familiar, but the only thing that came to mind was the path he followed to get there. Following this plain dirt path which was once clearly covered with grass, he observed all the foot prints. There was no other sign of his line going through this path. Everything looked untouch besides the trampled earth below him.
He knew he had to go home, but the only home he had ever known was the line that he followed for so long. He began to miss the back of the marcher in front of him, and the sound of boots pushing through mud. He needed something to follow. Where was the voice that told him to leave, he need something to follow.
He was so hungry, it felt like his stomach had begun to digest the inner lining of his body. He’d never gathered food for himself before, it was always provided by one of the marchers. He kept following the path, hoping to fall into a village or hut or anything, but there was nothing for miles. Hunger began to take his toll and after days of walking he couldn’t go any further. Losing all hope he sat under a tree to wait. No longer could he wait there to die so he tried to fall asleep, which after not sleeping since the first night was not very hard to do.
He woke up from this nightmare to one of the marchers he recognized, handing everyone rations, he yelled for everyone to get s move on. Without hesitating, he ate his meal, and fell in line.