Day two of my exile begins.

While still reeling from a great disorientation effected by my sudden exile, I awaken laboriously to record several observations about my environment. It is dark; there is barely enough light to outline a horizon. I appear to be in the middle of a vast expanse of wasteland. The ground is composed of loose sand that slowly begins to subsume a man walking erect. This makes traversing it extremely difficult and laborious. The only way to remain above the surface in one place for any length of time is to sit or to lie in a prone position. This is all the better, as there is a great coldness here and standing alone for too long can result in a tremendous loss of warmth. This coldness permeates all aspects of one’s being and cannot be warmed by any heater; there are also winds that blow incessantly, seemingly from every direction at once, that cannot be shielded by any jacket or coat of known composition.

One peculiar feature of this barren landscape is that there is a great black crater in the center of it. It is so large that it occupies a substantial portion of the center of this area. I can only assume it is a crater because I cannot see the bottom of it for lack of illumination. I dare not step too close to its sloped edge for I can feel its pull on me and I fear being sucked in, resulting in my transport to an undisclosed location I can only assume to be even less hospitable than the one I currently inhabit. Or, even worse, the possibility that the crater has no center and that my entrance might begin an eternal fall from which there is no escape.

Although the land seems to be stuck in a continual haze of near pitch-black, I am able to discern pictures of her. They hang in the air, suspended without cable or pedestal in the most haunting of manners. They appear suddenly in front of or behind my line of vision at any particular time and do not vanish with the turning of my head or the closing of my eyes. This disturbs my psyche greatly. These pictures are numerous and sporadically placed and their draw is almost as powerful as the large black hole in the center of the land, yet they pull me in a different unworldly direction. Sometimes the pictures are clear and present, almost life-like in their detail; other times they are faded and blurred, as a clouded memory or fragmented melody played from a distant parlor.

The rest of the landscape, save for these two features, is barren. The surface is desert and no plants grow or animals roam. There is no source of water or sustenance as far as I can tell. I do not specifically remember my arrival here, only that I awoke to find myself in this inhospitable land. As I write this, I am still not yet fully aware from whatever potion or spell was used to render me unconscious for my trip to this place. From the feel of things, it may take some time before the elixir wears off enough for me to continue on my journey. I can only assume it was an elixir, for its effects are so powerful that I experience difficulty even in writing this passage in a coherent manner.

It is difficult to traverse such a vast and dark terrain, and as I have no map nor compass to guide me, nor can I discern any stars in the heavens, my only recourse is to stay put and to hope for the dawn, which is surely to come at some unforetold time. I can only hope it does, for this land is so unusual and frightening that I fear the sun may never rise upon it, thereby never revealing a path or direction for my journey onward. I must somehow eventually escape this land, for there is no way any man can survive in this place for very long without a complete loss of self, wits, and eventual sanity. I pity the poor souls who have become lost here and pray that I do not become one of them. I seek simply to return to what I can only describe as earthly fields of Elysium, but I am afraid the return pathway may be so obscured and crumbled that it is impassable, or worse, that it has vanished completely.

A great heaviness weighs upon my eyelids again. I experience no sense of passage of time, as if time here has no meaning. It could be days or weeks, or merely hours I have been in this place or will remain here. I can only carve myself out a small shelter in the sand, a shallow ditch that quickly begins to fill again, in order to brace myself against this harsh environment. I need to rest frequently here, and as such, I feel another span of semi unconsciousness approaching.