Survival of the Fittest

Chapter Five - The Artist

Life sometimes thinks it's funny.

To me, it's been nothing but cruel. The story told me throughout my life is my father was an alcoholic and my mother passed away in a car accident caused by him. I was sent into foster care at the tender age of eight months. Growing up in foster care showed me quickly just how cruel life could be. I never had the pleasure of feeling a parent's love. I never had a mom to kiss my boo-boos or a dad to show me how a man should treat me. Nope, all I had was rotating homes and stand-in siblings. I say stand-in because they never followed me from house to house. I was alone even when I wasn't.

Once I graduated from high school, I managed to get into an Arts university far away from the state that tossed me around for eighteen years.

A normal teenager would probably be anxious about leaving home. Not me, I was excited and downright happy. I was given money from some account my birth mother had set up for me and a new lease on life. Sitting down on the bus to head four states away, I felt free for the first time in my life. I was finally able to be myself but, reminded myself to not be too trusting of people. I was so used to people not sticking around.

I always loved the outdoors. When hiking trails or jogging through parks, I always felt as if I could breathe. I wasn't being suffocated by overbearing foster parents or siblings that wanted nothing to do with me. Hiking was my release while the outdoors became my happy place. I didn't need or want people in my life. Give me nature and animals, I'm content. All that changed one late afternoon.

My Freshman year in college had just ended and I took a trip a few hours away. I needed new trails to hike. I was able to rent a tiny cabin for cheap due to it being the offseason. Waking up my first morning there, I walked outside with my coffee and took a long deep breath. I smiled while enjoying the scent of the surrounding water and forest. I am an old soul in a sense. I always carry around a small map of any area I plan on trekking. I'm not perfect at navigating an area but, I do my best at all times to know my surroundings. Looking at the map, I used my trusty thin tip marker to trace out the trail I planned on hiking that afternoon. I love afternoon hikes that end with me watching the sun descend on the western horizon.

Afternoon came quickly and excitement zoomed through me as I stepped out of my small cabin. I glanced at my surroundings then began my short walk to the trail. With my backpack filled and on my back, I began hiking it. The breeze was just right to provide some relief from the heat of the afternoon. I was just past the halfway point when I clumsily hurt myself. Instead of stopping to grab my water from my backpack, I reached behind me while walking. As I grabbed it, I stepped in an unlevel portion of the trail. My leg buckled causing me to fall. I winced in pain as I sat properly.

Propping myself up against a tree, I drank the water that caused my predicament. After a moment, I tried getting up to no avail. Pain stabbed my knee causing me to plop back down. I realized quickly that I managed to sprain my right knee. Looking up to the sky, I let out a small scream of frustration. Lowering my gaze to my swollen knee, I said...

"Great job, Rebecca. Great fucking job!"

As I was cursing myself, a shadow formed over me. Thinking clouds were passing above me, I paid no mind. When the shadow spoke, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"That looks pretty nasty. Do you need a hand or you got this?"

Turning my head slightly, I saw the cause of the shadow was a woman. She seemed to be around my age. The look she gave me distinctly said I should have been running off my injury. I rolled my eyes.

"Yep, all good down here. I'm cursing myself for no reason since a swollen knee is a norm for me."

That was four years ago.