For It's in the woods I die.

 I silently creep out of the eerily quiet house in my knee high winter boots, two layers of pants, sweatshirt, coat, scarf, two pairs of gloves, earmuffs,a hat scarf, and my hood. I step into the knee deep snow and trudge towards the hill. I lift my knees high and continue on the long trek. Determined to make it somewhere. I’m tempted to eat some of the food I stuffed in my clothes, but vote against it. I don’t know how long I have to make it last. The snow slows me down, the ice underneath making it hard to find a foothold. The darkness of the light does me a favor by casting shadows so dark you wouldn’t be able to see a pack of coyotes right in front of you. I silently thank the moon. 

  A branch off to my right breaks. I can feel the ground underneath me vibrate. The snow shifts. I whip my head towards the thick underbrush and trees. Silence. I take a deep breath and take a small step forward. then a bigger one. I take a big step, and I start falling. The snow takes me under. The cold stings my face. Needles piercing me open.  My chest tightens and I lose my breath. My lungs twist and turn. My head screams. The world slowly disappears, and I feel a sharp pain in my tailbone. I can hear more noise above me. A howling in the distance. I try to stay conscious. Coyotes. I squeeze my eyes shut and grimace at the pain as I try to stand up. My stomach drops as I plummet downwards. I hold in my scream. My fingers are numb. My face is numb. I’m numb. Blackness.

  My head throbs. I squint in the breaking light. My whole body is sore. I lay down and take a breath. My chest explodes in pain. The world around me is silent except for the occasional shatter of an icicle or bone chilling wind that russells the bare tree branches or encourages a coyote to howl.

  Sitting up is painful. My tailbone aches and I can't shake the fear of what happened and what is to come. Looking around I can’t make out where I am. Snow builds up in mounds from my fall, and rocky cliffs drop down at fierce angles. Thick Evergreen forests pop up every so often, creating a maze where every which way you turn you find yourself in seemingly the same place as before. I unwrap a napkin of beef jerky from my coat pocket and eat two whole strips without realizing. Angry at myself I stuff it back in my pocket and head in the direction I think will take me to a spring and away from the cabin. Each step is painful, and my teeth chatter so horribly I peel off one of my gloves and shove it in my mouth to keep from hurting myself. The wind is bitter cold and the sun is rising fast. I curse under my breath because I am nowhere near far enough away from the cabin as I was hoping, and may not even be in the right direction for all I know. I sit down to rest underneath an Evergreen tree, hidden by thick shrubbery. I pull out my old compass and check my direction. “Ugh!” I say out loud. I’m not going in the right direction. I can’t start that way now or i’ll be in plain sight, but I do have an hour or two that I can’t waste if I want to be as far away as possible. “I should have brought a bag.” I mumble to myself digging in my boot.. The only reason I didn’t bring one was so that I wouldn’t be slowed. “Darn It!” tears spring into my eyes. I’m cold, I’m tired, I’m hurt, I’m hungry, and I lost my first aid bundle during my fall. I stand up and continue my painful journey.

  My mind wanders, and I’m stuck between reality and fantasy. Am I really walking on a small pond of ice? Are my hands really shriveling up? Is my neck really turning into rubber? Is the flesh on my face really falling off? I collapse onto the ground, the ground that I can hear cracking. Is there an earthquake? No, I’m on ice. Am I underwater? No. Not yet. But I will be, I tell myself if I continue to lie here. I find my hands, which in fact have not shriveled up. But I have begun to believe that the flesh on my face is really falling off. I steady my clumsy bulk of a body, and brace for the killing cold water to engulf me and drown me, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the definite sound of the ice singing. The loud noise that comes right before the ice gives up and plummets anything on top into the biting cold water below. The sound like a bounce that vibrates through the whole earth. Like a baby's heartbeat, echoing. A sound that in return cracks the ice in various places, welcoming you to death. I slowly and carefully slide myself to the edge, and throw myself down. Dropping the rest of my precious beef jerky onto the fragile ice. Determined not to lose my meal I lay on my stomach, and slowly scooch across the ice. The singing becomes louder. The cracks becoming more widespread. I can feel the ice giving way, slowly, but faster than I would like. I reach forward, just a little too quickly. The Ice gives a loud echoing scream. I snatch my meal, and fall into a chilling bath of frosty water, soaking me through up to my ankles. I pray for it to hold up just a second longer, and my prayer is answered. But it’s not nearly as long as it should be. Just as I can almost jump to shore, I’m forced downward, almost to my knees. I clench my teeth and pull myself up. My body feels weighed down, my fingers numb, and the darkness just disappearing. I roll over onto solid ground.

  I can’t breath. I can’t move. I can’t even think. Just 30 grueling feet away is probably the best wood to hide in. The trees are so thick that not a lot of snow could get in, the trees are so close and the shrubbery is large and protecting. I pull myself forward as quickly as I can. 

  I reach the edge of the forest. It goes a great length, with little openings for people. I’m not sure how it was created, but it’s a miracle place. I army crawl through the opening, and am welcomed by a thick mossy layer of ground with little snow. Bushes and weeds pop up every few feet, and trees and roots stick up from the ground all around. I forge my way through, Covering my raw face from the threatening skeletal hands of bushes and trees. About five minutes into my trek inward, I spot a large hollowed out log, I make my way over and climb in. It's a great spot hidden behind a thick layer of moss and a few bushes. The trees surrounding are awfully close, seemingly closing in on my little hideout, but it’s the best I’ve got. I check my compass, and map, and find that the forest twists and turns in the right direction for me to continue on the right path without losing the protection of this place. Now more hopeful and cheerful, I reluctantly strip off a layer of my clothing and hang it out to dry some on top of my log and fall asleep.

  People call my name. Sirens wail. Dogs bark. Ice cracks. Coyotes howl. An avalanche is triggered. The forest falls apart. I end up back at the cabin. I wake up in shock, and sweat. My mind blurs and I become filled with fear and dread. But it was just a nightmare. Or a daymare. For I slept during the day. I laugh out loud. Probably louder than the joke deserves, but how would I know? I pull on my now damp clothes from the log and pull out half a stick of beef jerky. An owl hoots and I can hear small animals scurrying about. I crawl about on my stomach in the direction I assume is north.

After about half an hour of my feet getting pulled backwards by long vines slithering about like snakes, mud that purposefully makes a route through the slimmest of spots that I have to crawl through to dry on my damp thorn covered, grass stained, bulky, commercial coat, I find myself face to face with a fox.

I slowly back up. Closing my eyes, I wish that maybe I am back home in the cabin with my- I can't say. I open one eye. He hasn't moved. I open the other. Still hasn't. I sigh, and slowly reach in my pocket and pull out the bag of my favorite life-saving, or well- life endangering, I think to myself, remembering last night on the ice, jerky strips. I open the up and toss them far away from me. To my left instead of my right. The fox doesn't move. I groan and rest my head on the wet muddy ground. In a wink the fox is gone.

"Oh you better of eaten those!" I mumble a little to loudly.

Hour after hour I trudge through the forest. Hour after hour I grow weaker and weaker. As weak as I was before, as weak as I am in that cabin. as weak as I will be when I'm found. For It's in the woods I die.