He woke again, pain tremors rumbling through his body, but subsiding as he regained full consciousness. He was on his back, looking up at the bright sky.
Did my house vanish? The last thing he remembered was the creeper, exploding inches from his face, immolating him, searing his flesh.
But a quick look around told him he was back on the beach, in the sunken pit he’d dug to mark the spot where he'd first woken up here, what seemed like years ago.
He lept up, hoping to catch a glimpse of who, or what, had placed him here, but there was no-one and nothing to be seen, only a pile of bones that he guessed was the skeleton from earlier in the day.
Did somebody kill it, he wondered? Is that somebody my friend?
He wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time trying to figure it out. He raced back home, and could tell as he climbed up that it had suffered another serious explosion. His basement lie exposed, and most of the house and overhanging cliff was nowhere to be seen.
He scanned the area for further creepers, and seeing none, set to work completing quick repairs. He didn’t want to be exposed when night fell, but he had to get a move on. He hadn’t eaten in god knows how long now, and he was feeling weak and nervous and jittery.
He found his sword embedded in the ground where it had been thrown, and drew it out. A few pockmarks, but it was largely undamaged. Confident that his house was secure once more, he turned started to trudge up the rest of the hill, to try and scope out some food before the sun vanished once more.
But lady luck, after abandoning him for so long, was finally on his side. He’d hardly taken his first step when he saw a pack of wild pigs, grunting happily and feeding on the grass just feet above his house.
He let out a wild whoop and charged them. They started at him blankly, even as he sliced them up, turning them into pocket sized servings of delicious bacon. He ate even as he killed, blood and other juices dripping of his chin, his stomach swelling and straining with the abundance of food after hours of famine.
He wasn’t even fully in control of himself for several minutes, shoveling the warm guts into his body. Some aspect of willpower and self perseverance kicked in after a while, and he forced himself to save a portion of the third pig, shoving it into his bottomless pockets. It was good he did, because even before he’d swallowed the last bite, his stomach began to ache again, this time from too much food, not too little.
He leaned against a tree and rubbed his stomach, regretting his stupidity, but grinningly happily. These were strange days, but he had food for a while, a secure house, and thought night was falling soon, he wouldn’t have to venture out again for days.
He walked slowly back home, carefully, hard steps sending his stomach into turmoil. He sat down on the overhang, legs dangling over the precicpe, and looked at the beauty of the land around him.
At times like this, it’s almost nice here, he thought. Or said outloud. He wasn’t too sure. He thought briefly about this isolation, what it was going to do to his sanity, but pushed the thought from his mind as the sky began to darken.
He rose, and looked over his house- ugly little thing, he thought. But right now, I love you.
Then he walked inside.
Last night was a disaster, he thought. I almost died twice. That can’t happen again. I need a plan.
Grabbing some torches from the box, he went downstairs, sat on a raised stone, and began to plot.
Continue to the next post.
Did my house vanish? The last thing he remembered was the creeper, exploding inches from his face, immolating him, searing his flesh.
But a quick look around told him he was back on the beach, in the sunken pit he’d dug to mark the spot where he'd first woken up here, what seemed like years ago.
He lept up, hoping to catch a glimpse of who, or what, had placed him here, but there was no-one and nothing to be seen, only a pile of bones that he guessed was the skeleton from earlier in the day.
Did somebody kill it, he wondered? Is that somebody my friend?
He wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time trying to figure it out. He raced back home, and could tell as he climbed up that it had suffered another serious explosion. His basement lie exposed, and most of the house and overhanging cliff was nowhere to be seen.
He scanned the area for further creepers, and seeing none, set to work completing quick repairs. He didn’t want to be exposed when night fell, but he had to get a move on. He hadn’t eaten in god knows how long now, and he was feeling weak and nervous and jittery.
He found his sword embedded in the ground where it had been thrown, and drew it out. A few pockmarks, but it was largely undamaged. Confident that his house was secure once more, he turned started to trudge up the rest of the hill, to try and scope out some food before the sun vanished once more.
But lady luck, after abandoning him for so long, was finally on his side. He’d hardly taken his first step when he saw a pack of wild pigs, grunting happily and feeding on the grass just feet above his house.
He let out a wild whoop and charged them. They started at him blankly, even as he sliced them up, turning them into pocket sized servings of delicious bacon. He ate even as he killed, blood and other juices dripping of his chin, his stomach swelling and straining with the abundance of food after hours of famine.
He wasn’t even fully in control of himself for several minutes, shoveling the warm guts into his body. Some aspect of willpower and self perseverance kicked in after a while, and he forced himself to save a portion of the third pig, shoving it into his bottomless pockets. It was good he did, because even before he’d swallowed the last bite, his stomach began to ache again, this time from too much food, not too little.
He leaned against a tree and rubbed his stomach, regretting his stupidity, but grinningly happily. These were strange days, but he had food for a while, a secure house, and thought night was falling soon, he wouldn’t have to venture out again for days.
He walked slowly back home, carefully, hard steps sending his stomach into turmoil. He sat down on the overhang, legs dangling over the precicpe, and looked at the beauty of the land around him.
At times like this, it’s almost nice here, he thought. Or said outloud. He wasn’t too sure. He thought briefly about this isolation, what it was going to do to his sanity, but pushed the thought from his mind as the sky began to darken.
He rose, and looked over his house- ugly little thing, he thought. But right now, I love you.
Then he walked inside.
Last night was a disaster, he thought. I almost died twice. That can’t happen again. I need a plan.
Grabbing some torches from the box, he went downstairs, sat on a raised stone, and began to plot.
Continue to the next post.
(Authors note: Wow! Two of my three deaths in one day, just an hour or two in. I’m starting to re-think this whole ‘play your first game of minecraft on hard mode with a three death limit’ thing. I’d hate to lose this story before it even started, but I do like the challenge and intensity that comes from
having a limited number of respawns.
I’ll guess I’ll just wait and see. If Mantheson dies in a suitably epic fashion, I’ll bring this to a close,
but I’d really like to kick this around for a while.
Looks like I need to hit the wiki and figure some things out. I don’t want to learn too much about the game, but obviously I have very little idea what I’m doing!)
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