Wander Boy

Frozen spirals stretched up from the grass as he walked, behind him, beside him, but never directly breaking into his path. It was almost as if they were following the Wander Boy. The grass slowly started to fade to blue and eventually flattened out into an icy landscape. The Wander Boy felt dizzy, a feeling that was all too familiar now. He closed his eyes, blinked hard, and when he opened them again the world around him had changed.

He was no longer in the endless grass hills he'd just been in, he was now in the middle of a frozen wasteland. A endless horizon of blue stretched all around him. He was the only speck of color in this wretched one-color world. The dark blue sky runs off into the distance until it meets the powder blue surface of the ice. Just as before, the spirals start to arise, but this time the growth is sparatic and spread out. The Wander Boy just shrugged his sweat shirt closer around him and started walking.

That's all my life is, he thought to himself bitterly. He wasn't entirely wrong either. He was doomed to wander the surface of every deminsi0n and world there is, never to have a true home. He was an inter-dimensional nomad of sorts. Someone he'd crossed paths with once had called him a Wanderer, and the name had stayed.

He'd been born human, on Earth, like every regular boy. But what happened to him from there was a mystery to even himself. He had been wandering for as long as he could remember. He never had a true human memory that he could recollect. It pained him, yes, but he accepted what he was with a fighting bitterness.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, occasionally jumping out of the way of a rapidly sprouting spiral. He shivered, his breath visible in the air. He thought that maybe he was crying, but with his eyes already stinging from the cold, it was hard to tell if it was because of some underlying sadness or the frosty air. It wouldn't surprise him if he were crying. He ached for relief, for warmth, for a home- for death if it would get him to stay in one place for more than a few days.

The Wander Boy moved forward for hours. Never go back was his motto and he tried best to stick to his word. Soon after the sky grew dark -if there was a sun, he couldn't see it- he spotted something on the horizon. A large frosty cliffside, boughs of land hanging outward at random intervals. He brightened up immediately. It was some sort of shelter that he could use and he was very thankful for it.

He sprinted to the cliff side, surprised to see the large mouth of a cave at its base. With a soft smile he ducked inside, thanking whoever gave him this small stroke of luck. He laid himself down, pulling off his sweatshirt and undershirt, rolling the latter up as a pillow and using the sweatshirt as a blanket. He laid there in silence for awhile, his hands absently grabbing at the ice. He'd grab a chunk of the cool ground and pull it into his line of vision just in time to see it melt away, becoming warm sand as it slid between his fingers.

He groaned, tossing a handful of sand at the cave wall. He shut his eyes hard and refused to open them again. He hated this- never waking up in the same place, never sure where he was, and definitely frustrated by the fact that nothing was ever actually what it seemed to be.