I feel the marshy undergrowth me boots become wet, but I do not feel the bitter cold of bipolar ice puddles of the icey turns of autumn, to winter. I am cold and devasted, but I refuse to look back. I will not be weakened by the bitter cold, or the painstaking aches of my ears. It will make me weak if I look back, and I will never try to escape again. It is now, or live forever in my misery.
I hear the restless racoons nearby, all weary from the strange creature. That creature is me, for animals fear my greedy existence. We will ruthlessley dispose of them if they pose as an obstacle. They say it is in human nature now to destroy all that opposes us, but we are ruthless kings against nature, we will take what we want even if its not what we need.
My foot trips over a branch and I fall into the cold and dampness of the ground, my denim jacket gladly absorbs the water of the marshy ground. The sting of freezing water in th midst of the night is suffocatingly painful in the night, as I slowly leverage myself up from the ground. My hands now stinging horribly, but I walk on. For I will not stop.
As the night goes on, I hear coyotes whine in the night, I am not worried. I know they will probably leave me alone... but my eyes grow heavy. So I look at the marshy ground in pure wonder. What would happen if I rested my weary head against the ground? So I sit. The watery ground soaks my jeans, but I am too tired to care. So I fully lay on the ground. The ground welocoming my clutching hand. Crushing the wet and damp leaves.
I close my eyes and drift off into an uncomfortable sleep, but I never seem to be able to move from my place, it is always damp in my forest, but I do not remember anything other than that night. But the forest never changes seasons. It stays on that day. But I never wish to leave.
In the woods, I walk alone.
