In 500... (or less)

Into the Wilderness

John glanced at his dwindling pile of wood, searching for a branch to use as a crutch. His ankle throbbed inside his boot, he dared not take it off.

It was not an option to forgo going out to gather firewood. His life depended on it.

John had hoped his ankle would heal enough to let him venture away from his shelter to collect more wood, but even after a few days he was still in a great deal of pain.

His thoughts lingered on his accident, a careless misstep along the stream while collecting water. He wasn't sure how he made it back that day.

The food stores, which he normally supplemented with small game and wild edibles was quickly diminishing as well. That problem became secondary yesterday. 

The blanket of snow, coming far later in the spring than he had expected, brought the need for a fire to the top of his list. Freezing to death would happen far sooner than starving.

"The glamorous life of the trapper," he thought to himself. The promises of a fortune from trading furs seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the realities of backbreaking work and solitude. He couldn't imagine how far away the nearest doctor might be.

Perhaps his luck was turning, as he found a large branch felled by the snowstorm just a few hundred yards from his camp. It presented an entirely new problem.

"How I am going to drag this back?" In his haste to collect wood he had forgotten to bring anything to tote it with him. He leaned toward the ground to grab the base of the branch and found himself off balance. He threw his sore foot to the ground instinctively.

John yelped in agony at putting weight on his ankle. He nearly tumbled to the ground, but managed to sling the crutch beneath him for balance before doing so. He would have to settle for breaking off some kindling.

On his way back, Mother Nature unleashed a tempest. John barely made it to his camp through the blinding snow. His hands were red and numb and he fought to control them as he tried to fuel the dying embers of his fire.

Another trip out for wood was out of the question. He would have to try to stay warm however he could.

Throughout the bone-chilling night, he barely slept, tossing the rest of his firewood into the fire. He shivered and quaked uncontrollably, bumping his sore ankle over and over again to the point of anguish.

As the night wore on, John felt a sense of calm come over him. The shivering seemed to stop.

He watched with weary eyes as the fire dwindled down to the last few licks of flame. He should have been alarmed, but found himself peacefully focused on the flame. It was a beautiful little thing, leaping in all directions before recoiling to jump in another direction.

He shut his eyes. The only question now was whether he or the fire would die first.