Ice! Freezing! I'm dying! Please! Please! I don't want to fucking die! I'm only seventeen fucking years old! Please! I...

     Skip Dawson opened his eyes. 

​     He didn't feel cold at all. 

​     What the fuck?

     He looked up at a dawn sky.

​     He sat up. He looked around. 

     Where the fuck was he?

     He was alone. That's one thing. He wouldn't have to deal with anyone or anything for at least a couple of minutes, and that was good.

​     He stood.

     It was like he was in some kind of junkyard or something.

     Artificial lights ringed this field of odorless refuse that he found himself on. Skip saw no shadows. There was nowhere to hide even if he wanted to hide. 

     Did he want to hide?

​     Where the fuck was he?

     He saw chunks of rusting metal beams and concrete that had once been homes and businesses but were no more and hadn't been for a long, long time. 

A thick layer of dust coated everything.

     Skip heard the scurrying of rats...

     or at least he hoped they were only rats. 

     Whatever they were, the scurrying sounds came from below him.

     And that's when he saw the coin.  

​     It rested at his feet.

     It'd made the trip with him all the way from the Arctic to where he was at now.

     The Arctic. That's right. He'd been freezing. He honestly thought he was going to die. 

     Please don't tell me this is the afterlife, he thought.

     He discarded the notion immediately. 

     He had to pee, for one thing. He doubted anyone had to pee in the afterlife.

     He whipped out his pecker and let the urine flow. He was right out in the open, but who cared? There was no one around to see him, only the rats. 

     "WHERE THE FUCK AM I?" he roared.

     "I've only begun my analysis, but my initial estimation is that we're somewhere in the future," replied the coin.

CONTINUE