Night Fell. Morning Came. The blood which saturated the area behind his right ear had completely coagulated and much of it blended in well with the few auburn leaves which lined the path. Bill looked like shit. Covered with scrapes, knots and twigs from head to toe, there was no part of his entire body that went without pain. Almost immediately he thought of Isobel. For some reason he was confident that she was safe. Maybe it was because it was he who had fallen down the hill while she stood safely stories above. Perhaps the fact that she was an accomplished hiker was reassuring to Bill or maybe it was because she was as comfortable surviving on her own as Bill was at struggling with solitude. He knew she was fine. Now he had to worry about himself. While picking pieces of bark and branches out of his thick skin, Bill began walking slowly in as straight of a line as possible, conscious of his surroundings in hopes that he could find a way out of this forest and into the arms of his love.
Bill had no idea how long he had been walking. He continued to struggle along the trail which varied in width and difficulty as it winded through the dense forest. Though it was likely midday, the tree-coverage blocked most of the sunlight, and despite the fact that many of the trees had shed their leaves as in Eugene, many would not. Bill had some trouble understanding why this happened each and every autumn. There was much he failed to understand about the world around him. While he could barely lift his head as he continued to amble along, amazingly he noticed that he was surrounded by an army of trees, enveloped by Spruces, Firs and Pines so many it would be impossible to count. The coniferous varieties were clinging with great valiance to their cones, almost as if being contained within this vast woodland protected its members from the autumnal stripping until the very last possible moment - when the shaded forest floor would become inundated by an influx of conifer droppings - making the path as indistinguishable as the densely covered ground. These were just a few of the many species cohabiting in this dense forest outside of Eugene, highlighting the virtues of autumn in a way that only the Pacific North-West could. Though distracted by the beauty which lined the path and acres of forest beyond him, his hunger could no longer be ignored. A moan echoed from the cavern of his vacant stomach. Which each passing moment of increasing hunger, Bill’s mind began to play tricks on him, as he continued to walk aimlessly along the path to nowhere in search of his beautiful Isobel.
Hunger is fascinating. At this point I would eat just about anything to drive-off this lightheadedness. There are stages of being hungry, where the desire to eat increases, and in theory so do the options. Upon the first sensation of an empty stomach pronouncing itself, I usually crave my favorite dish. Visions of a poached, yet runny egg perched lightly on an English muffin, wedged between the two a thin slice of smoked salmon, topped with a decadently rich amount of hollandaise sauce. Thinking about this is making me even hungrier. Boy, I would settle for just about anything right now, minus the decaying animal carcass a mile back. Shit I’d eat Indian right now.
With each passing minute the probability of starvation increased. Bill was beginning to lose his mind. He walks for what seems to be forever, the trail becoming blacker by the second. As night falls, the temperature drops well below freezing with a sharp wind darting like a wolf between the forest’s pillars, emitting a high-pitched whistling that did little to alleviate our friend’s hunger-related migraine. The odds were not in Bill’s favour that cold autumn night, starvation and hypothermia wrestling with one another to claim his life, an empty stomach growling against the numbing sensation of frozen extremities, all the while worried not only for himself but for his beautiful Isobel. Had she gotten out of the forest alive, or had she delved deeper into the woods in search of Bill. He hopped that she was safe, but at the same time felt a little disappointed thinking that perhaps Isobel could easily find a replacement. Having very few friends throughout life harbors such feelings of despair and solitude. Can you blame him? The idea of positive thinking is new to Bill, where in years past thinking happy thoughts would have been a clandestine concept, Isobel’s recent influence has been a mentally rewarding one. He was now off-track, both on the trail and in a cerebral sense. He was now playing a game of survival with odds stacked heavily against him. The goal was to stay awake until the next day, when the afternoon temperature would be more conducive to slumber. He continued to walk at an impossibly slow pace. It was now dangerously cold. When the body begins to freeze, the drop in temperature has a hallucinogenic effect on the victim, where the internal thermometer fails to properly reflect the body’s core temperature, giving the person the impression that it’s warmer than it actually is. Many people who freeze to death are found either naked or in various stages of disrobement, identifying the mental damage that hypothermia can cause. Bill was starting to have strange thoughts concerning a whole slew of ideas, one of which was that either it was actually getting warmer or he was losing his mind. In this instance, the latter applies. To make matters worse, carrying nothing more than common identification meant that starting a fire was out of the question.
Were my entire head not absolutely frozen right now I’d have to laugh at the fact that having a fire at this moment would mean the difference between life and death. It seems as if the distance between the two is narrowing rapidly. I obviously do not have the ability to start a fire, so I am forced to stumble along, and hope to stay awake until daybreak. Fire. How amusing. An invention that once changed mankind so drastically only to be overshadowed over time by the likes of Edison, Tesla and Marconi, could go a bloody long way towards saving my frigid ass. Death is near.
Starving and frozen, Bill lied down at the side of the winding trail on a large moss covered rock. The moss was so great that it acted as a pillow of sorts, supporting Bill’s weary melon as he fought to stay awake, eventually giving in with a gasp of frustration. Fighting the urge to fall asleep was a battle lost. Bill was asleep almost instantly. Now the chances of freezing to death had increased two-fold, sprawled unconscious across a chilling rock with all extremities exposed, his core temperature would continue to drop steadily.
(check-back tomorrow for the finale - thanks.)
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