Chapter 2 [Pickor Poison ]

Tinted windows twist you into a strange figure. Then they vanish, and trees rustle in the wind.
"What?!" you cry after the car. You thought it was offering a ride. Suddenly, you were slapped. Now the car rolls away, detracting its arms. On either side, the forest shakes.
This is where you stand. Madness creeps through you like an itch. Since you can't find it, you itch everything.
You begin walking again, deciding not to thumb a ride. Another figure appears on the horizon as you step over some sort of roadkill.
Most people mistake these lands for roads, as if nothing else should be there. You see those people hovering past right now, on a conveyor belt. Not many walk the road as if it were land. Those that do must leap across weed eaten cracks and pause upon meeting. The figure switches to your side of the road.
After a slow pause, the pale old man is close enough to talk above burning rubber. "Hello." "Hello." The man gestures like a mime. He seems to be trapped in a box as he walks; his actions must have been learned in some terrible enclosure. Fear emanates from his eyes. "Goodbye." "Goodbye." The meeting passes quickly.
As you walk away, you hear him mutter something. The utter tone is enough to frighten the dead. As if boundless indifference was gasping, the man's raspy voice seems to name what you've done. He keeps walking away, but you must decide whether to respond.

[To respond, skip to chapter 4]