It was dust.
Or maybe a better way to describe it was swirling dust.
Jon let out a sigh of both sadness and relief. It wasn't anything bad, but it wasn't someone that could help him either. He was still alone.
He walked past the miniature dust storm. Or, at least, he tried to. It seemed that the dust kept on flying into his face.
Then there was a whispering sound. It almost sounded like his name. Joooooon.
He turned around. No one was there. He was just imagining it. He turned back to start walking, but then stopped.
About 20 feet ahead of him was the old man, the one that was dressed as a farmer.
"Who are you?" Jon asked.
"You got a lotta guts, kid," he said. "Knowing the danger and all."
"Where am I?"
"I told you before. This is the Place."
Jon decided he wasn't going to get the answers he wanted, so he tried something else. "You said you didn't know how I got here. How did you get here?"
"I live here. The Place is my home."
"So, you live in the fields."
"No, no. The fields are only here for you."
"You mean it's all an illusion?"
"If you say. I'm afraid that you couldn't understand."
"Is there any way to leave this place?" Jon asked.
"I already told you no." The man smiled. "But don't worry. You're doin' okay, kid. Just hang in there."
And just like before, the farmer disappeared, leaving Jon with the corn fields and the swirling dust.
