Just My Luck

The level of light in the sky told me it was four in the morning. I had no fucking clue how I knew it, but I just knew. The way the sky was beginning to reflect among the snow to make way for a sunrise sure to come soon told me what time it was. I never much understood instincts, or how to interpret my surroundings based on the sun, stars, plants, or anything of that nature. Actually, it never really made any sense for me to go on this hunting trip with everyone else anyways. They knew I would get lost. For all my luck, they wanted me to get lost. They wanted me to die in the woods of hypothermia so they wouldn't have to put up with it anymore. I've convinced myself that's why I'm here. I don't really know how to make a fire, and I'm pretty sure that the snow has soaked everything through, so none of it will burn anyway. I've got three matches in my pocket, for all my luck, I'll just end up wasting them.

My fingers are thoroughly numbed, and I'd like to say that at least I can feel my face, but I can't. Actually, my teeth have probably been chattering to such an extent that they'll soon turn into short little nubs, and I'll end up having to get dentures at 24. My toes disappeared hours ago, and there was really no hope of them returning anytime soon. The rest of my body has been shivering for so long that I'm convinced I'm starting to gain some muscle tone. For all my luck, I'll probably have to have my limbs amputated, and I'll turn into an even bigger freak than I already am.

At this point I'm chilling out under a pine tree; it blocks the wind but does nothing to provide too much insulation: you can't have everything. I feel like I will probably be stuck out here at least until sunrise: the gang at least remembered to inform me that if you keep going east, there's a highway to get out of the woods, you know, just in case I would get lost or anything. If I learned anything about the way the world works, I know that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West. So, knowing the general direction raises my hopes a little bit. However, freezing to death before the sun starts to rise might put a damper on my night.

Using a few of the nearly dry branches from the under-layer of the pine tree I find myself beneath, I'm thinking that starting a little fire might be best. I've never started a fire in my life other than using a match to light up a cigarette. For all my luck, if I start a fire, I might end up burning down the entire forest, but hey, at least it would definitely alert the authorities to where I am.

I doubt anyone's even looking for me. That brought me along to be "that kid" who doesn't know what they're doing to make everyone else look better. They're probably all sitting in the bar shooting various liquids down their throats, while I'm trying to find a surface to strike a match on. They probably don't even notice that I'm missing.

The roughness of the pine tree provided a nice outlet for lighting the match, and at least it smoked a little bit on the first attempt. I only have two matches left, so number two better be a winner. Much to my surprise, it lights right up, allowing me to use the one lit branch to light another and another, creating a pretty substantial fire.

Feeling your toes is a marvelous feeling, as is being able to breathe in a steady motion and feel your face. Oh, and it really eases your jaw to stop your teeth from chattering: physical therapy I tell you. Well, I figure that I can make it in the morning, for real, this time. Maybe I can make it back to where we checked in and hitch some sort of ride home. For all my luck, those bastards probably left already.

The sun's starting to rise, and with my new, warmed-up limbs, I am able to begin my journey back. I throw some snow on my fire, crushed by the fact that I have to give it up and only have one match left to get me back to base in a case of emergency. Trudging through snow is difficult after a night without sleep, physically exhausting actually. I am bound to be getting close to my destination or at least a real, man-made road to get me there.

I'm starting to zone out in the monotonous drone of the quiet woods when I swear I hear my name. I'm pretty sure I'm imagining it, but who knows? I hear it again, a little louder this time, and my insides are turning to jelly with how excited I am. Someone's looking for me. A real live person, and I hope it's one of those bastards I mentioned earlier, actually gives a damn about me: enough to call my name in the dead of the woods just looking for a sign of life. My life.

I won't admit it out loud, but a tear's running down my face. It's made it into my mouth, and upon tasting it's saltiness, I wipe the remnants of it away. Suddenly trudging isn't a good word to use about how I'm propelling through the snow; I'm sprinting - and tripping over myself in the process - but sprinting toward the voice.

I face-plant into the snow, and the voice is right above me. It's excited, it's telling me that it's been looking for me all night, and it's telling me that I'm never going to be out in the woods by myself again. The man is hugging me so tight that I feel like I can't breathe, but the hug is welcome anyways. The man is crying a little bit, saying that he was so afraid he was going to lose me for good, and I'm promising him that won't happen. And maybe I didn't know it until then, but those bastards, that bastard in particular, were my best friends.