He didn’t remember how he escaped, but he only knew that the tether that attached him to that place was gone.
In Millennium City, Fallen was taken in by the lights, the noise, the confusion. There was beauty in the randomness. He never liked the order others needed. Maybe that was why they were so miserable.
He knew that was why he was miserable.
He walked through the Renaissance Center, looking around, and bumping into people. He did not apologize. He didn’t know he was supposed to.
A man came up to him, and purposefully bumped into Fallen, who blinked and looked at him. He was in a cowboy outfit, and he had what looked to be a metal jaw. “Hey, there, pardner,” he said, with a smile, “You’re s’posed to apologize when you bump into people.”
“Am I? Why?”
“Courtesy.”
“I do not understand.”
“Where are you from?”
Fallen looked up. The man followed his gaze, and then nodded. “Ahh, y’ain’t from ’round these parts.”
“I am from far away, far a-time.”
“Far a-time?”
He struggled for the right word. “Long ago.”
“How about you and me, we go talk. You can tell me all about it.” The man smiled. “Fallen.”
“You know my name.”
“I know what you are. I,” said the man, “am called The Drifter.”
Writing prompt from:
Fryman, Clifford (2011-04-29). StoryStarters (Kindle Locations 464-465). Tin Palace Press. Kindle Edition.