Chapter Text
Inspired by the songs "Voices Off Camera" and "People Live Here" by Rise Against.
Waking up on the floor of some annonymous room, hungover and sore, was one thing. Waking up on the dusty desert ground, body aching, head pounding, and a poorly wrapped gunshot wound, to top it all off, is an entirely different thing.
Jesse pushes himself up off the hard ground, careful of his still aching shoulder and upper arm, and shoves the bundled up hoodie he'd been using as a pillow into his worn backpack. There's a burning behind his eyes, the kind that comes from extreme exhaustion, and a few (more or less) sleepless nights. Not that it matters. He still needs to keep moving.
He stepps out of the small alcove where he had been sleeping. A large dented rock, and a bit of a hollow in the sand covered ground, probably created by one of the desert storms that had come through the area recently. It had served him well as a resting spot for the past few hours, as he was sure it had served many a creature and critter before him. Not the most comfortable he'd ever been, but nights like these were something he'd have to start getting used to, he supposed... for the time being, at least.
It is hot, even though it's still early, and only the first few rays of sun hitting the dry sand is enough to form heatwaves on the horizon. Jesse hoists his bag further up his shoulder and heaves a sigh as he forces his tired feet to move forward. He brings a hand up to move his hat out of the way so he can wipe the dust from his brows, even though he knows he's just smearing the days old grime and sweat around. Old habbits die hard (or so they say)...
He's been walking for a while, heat rising along with the sun, when his thirst finally wins over his stubborness. He doesn't like wasting valuable resources, especially ones that are scarce and hard to come by on a good day. Alas, he needs to drink in order to survive, and he knows as much, so he lets the bag slide off his shoulder and down his arm, catches the strap in his hand and uses the other to open and rummage around until he finds the bottle. It is significantly lighter than he wishes it was, almost empty... he sighs and takes a quick sip of lukewarm water. It tastes like old plastic, but Jesse's never been one to complain. Instead he drops the bottle back into the pack, closes the zip, and throws the bag back over his shoulder.
He doesn't stop walking.