Sugar sugar baby

[71] Week 1

By the end of week one, things had finally started to turn around. It wasn't easy—hell, every day out here felt like a battle—but I was getting the hang of it. My body had adjusted to the rhythm of the wilderness, and I'd learned enough to survive. The gnawing hunger that had plagued me in the first few days had eased up. I wasn't starving anymore, at least.

I sat by the small creek I'd found a couple of days ago, my fishing line trailing lazily in the water. I'd fashioned the rod myself from a long branch and some fishing line I'd packed as a precaution, and after a few tries, I'd managed to catch a couple of fish. It wasn't much, but out here, every little victory felt monumental.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the forest, and for the first time since I'd arrived, I felt... calm. Almost peaceful.

I glanced down at the small basket beside me, where a few handfuls of wild berries I'd foraged sat waiting. I'd spent the last few days learning what was safe to eat and what wasn't. Edible plants, berries, even some wild fruit. Thank God for those YouTube videos. Without them, I probably would've poisoned myself by now.

As I sat there, waiting for the fish to bite, I couldn't help but think back to how rough those first few days had been. No food, no sleep, just cold and frustration. I'd almost given up, almost packed it all in and gone back home. But now, a week later, I was still here. Still standing.

The fishing line tugged gently, and I pulled it up, grinning when I saw a small trout wriggling on the end of it.

"Fuck yeah," I muttered to myself, pulling the fish off the hook and adding it to the pile I'd already caught. "Lunch is looking good today."

It was funny—I'd never thought I'd find satisfaction in something as simple as catching a fish. But out here, away from everything, away from the noise of my old life, it felt... different. Like I was finally doing something for myself. Something real.

I packed up my things and headed back to camp, the fish slung over my shoulder as I walked through the trees. The air was fresh, the sounds of the forest filling the silence as I made my way back to the small clearing where I'd set up my tent. The fire pit was still smoldering from earlier, and I quickly set about getting a new fire started.

It didn't take me nearly as long this time. After a week of practice, I could get a fire going in just a few minutes. I sat by the flames, cooking the fish on a makeshift spit, the smell of fresh trout filling the air. My stomach growled, but this time it wasn't the painful emptiness I'd felt in the beginning. This time, it was hunger that I knew I could satisfy.

As I ate, I couldn't help but laugh at how far I'd come. "Jesus, Tristan, you're a fucking wilderness expert now," I muttered to myself, tearing into the fish. "Who'd have thought?"

The first few bites were incredible—fresh, warm, and satisfying in a way that no fast food or restaurant meal had ever been. It wasn't just about the taste. It was about the work I'd put in to catch it, the effort it had taken to get here. Every bite felt earned.

I leaned back against a log, watching the flames dance in the fire pit, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel that nagging sense of failure or disappointment. I wasn't thinking about Vanessa, or the jobs I'd lost, or the mess I'd left behind in the city. Out here, none of that mattered. Out here, it was just me, the fire, and the wild.

Still, I couldn't shake the thought that this wouldn't last forever. Sooner or later, I'd have to go back—back to reality, back to facing the consequences of everything that had happened. But for now, I was content to let that go. Just for a little while longer.

I'd gotten better at identifying the edible plants and berries around the area, too. Earlier that day, I'd found a patch of wild strawberries growing near the edge of the creek. They were small, not like the big ones you'd find at the grocery store, but they were sweet and packed with flavor. I grabbed a handful from the basket and popped one into my mouth, savoring the taste as I leaned back and watched the smoke rise from the fire.

As I sat there, a breeze rustling through the trees, I realized something. I was surviving. More than that—I was thriving. In just a week, I'd gone from a clueless idiot flailing around in the woods to someone who could catch his own food, find edible plants, and keep a fire going. It wasn't much, but out here, it was everything.

"Not bad, Tristan," I said quietly to myself, taking another bite of fish. "Not fking bad."

The evening sun started to dip below the horizon, casting the clearing in a warm orange light. I added a few more logs to the fire, feeling the heat wash over me as the flames roared to life. The sounds of the forest—the chirping of insects, the distant rustle of animals in the underbrush—felt like a lullaby. Out here, away from everything, the world felt... simpler.

I stretched out on the ground, staring up at the sky as it turned from orange to pink to deep purple, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead. I hadn't looked at the stars like this in years. Not since I was a kid. I'd forgotten how vast the night sky could be, how small it made you feel in comparison.

But instead of feeling insignificant, I felt... at peace. Like I was part of something bigger. Something that didn't care about Vanessa, or the jobs I'd lost, or the mess I'd left behind. Out here, in the wild, all of that melted away.

I closed my eyes, the crackling of the fire and the cool breeze on my skin lulling me into a deep sense of calm. Maybe, just maybe, I was going to be okay.

Q: Are you good at outdoors survival?