Felt like when somebody would be a teenager, and they'd sneak out of their parents' house without permission at night, and romp around with no goal except to romp. Of course, I had never had that experience, orphaned as I was, but I've heard stories of what it was like to have parents looking over you and not nurses. Every step felt like a weight in my chest being bounced from light to heavy, worries scattering in my lungs like shaking a ball filled with smaller balls around. While I could never escape those fears, jostling the fears felt freeing enough as to let me forget about the situation I was in, or at least for now. All that was there was myself, the sand scraping against my feet, rocks to bump into, and a great wall of stone right up ahead to look around inside.
Nothing except myself, myself and a few stray smallfries to pass by. A true abandoned scenery, looking off into the distance to see nothing, and feeling that great nothing in my soul. I was truly alone now, a feeling that sunk many, but for now, a break from the world felt just fine, as long as it was in a romanticizable, enjoyable way.
Lights faded behind me as I went through that great stone mass, the great plateu becoming nothing more than a small tunnel, speckles of dust surrounding me as I disturbed the lands. Holes were scattered in this stone, and sometimes as I passed one, I'd see a flash of light, or an eye staring back. Some felt real, some not. Maybe it was never real at all.