The first thing I heard was rain on my faceplate, then I could see it collecting on my eye-ports. My back still hurt from the fall into the waste pit at the old foundry so I figured I ought to just lie there on what I assumed was moss and dirt.
Now hang on. I've seen some strange things before, stuff you wouldn't believe, but to fall off a ladder into a pit and wake up in a rainy forest? That's foolish!
I hauled myself to my feet, wondering how long I had been there after seeing the dry spot on the earth, and began to take in my surroundings. I stood in the middle of a dark, wet, old growth oak forest. I knew for a fact that there weren't any forests like this anywhere near my village, maybe not even in my country. Where was I?
I began walking in no particular direction, realizing as I went that I only had half of my equipment; I had three shells and a bayonet but no shotgun, I had a compact oxy-acetylene cutter but no sparker, I had a sledge hammer and a steel pipe but I had lost the case of dynamite! Useless old man! The shotgun alone was expensive, but the dynamite? We needed that for... whatever it was we needed it for... I couldn't even remember why we needed the bloody explosives in the first place!
I screamed, I hammered on a tree with my fists, the air was almost blue with profanity by the time I colapsed, panting and weeping.
I was lost, I was hungry, I was tired, and worst of all I was scared. I hadn't been scared in the army, I hadn't been scared in prison, I hadn't even been scared in the Visitation Zone! But here I was, brave old me, in an oak forest.
It was then that I saw the house through the trees and mist, and I ran toward it. I couldn't hear anyone inside, and no one answered when I knocked, so I placed my knife against the lock, drew my gloved fist back...
And the door swung open by itself.
"Better not look a gift horse in the mouth."
Just so this makes some sense: I was in an English course a while ago, and we had to write either a novella or collection of short stories based on the work of another author. I wrote a collection of interwoven stories called Five Stories based on the book Roadside Picnic by the Strugatsky brothers.
I liked the collection, but Lord only knows what happened to it. I'm trying to write it over again, and right now I'm just trying to get back into writing.