Hokey Pokey (What this blog's all about)

A writing challenge I've given myself to write every day for six months. After some posts, I'll put in a comment with a brief explanation of the inspiration for the piece. Some posts will be practice for bigger projects: character sketches or settings. I don't really know what all will happen which is why I'm doing it.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Day 56

She wakes up and it's drizzling.  It feels late in the day and she regrets having skipped breakfast.  Regrets  not cancelling.  She's not certain but she thinks the sun will set soon, is maybe in the process of setting now.  It will be getting cold.  She regrets not hopping down the trail sooner.  She could have rested and hopped, rested and hopped, and gotten to the trail head by now.  Now it will be dark and cold and she hasn't eaten in nearly 24 hours.

She gets up.  Hops as far as she can, then sits down to rest.  She's probably only gone a block.  With the fast clip she came in on, it'll only be a week before she gets back to the trail head.  And then, what?  Her car's a stick shift, she won't be able to drive it.  So she'll still be hoping someone will stumble upon her then.

She tries not to panic.  She gets up and hops some more, gets dizzy, chilled, rests.

Dear God,

Here's the thing.  I don't want to die in the woods without showering or ever having children.  I don't want to die with people's secrets in my keeping.  Really, I don't want to die with my own secrets kept.  I know this whole thing is my own stupid fault, but if I could get a hand from even the grizzliest of weirdos, that'd be helpful.

She hears something rustling in the bushes, gets optimistic.  Maybe she'll reconsider her stance on god after all.  Then she hears a grunting and realizes the steps are not human.  She just hopes its not a bear.  Hopes it passes her and she just gets to ponder what it might have been.  Maybe she can make it into a bear in the retelling without ever having to actually see a bear.  Thank god, I'm not on my period, she thinks, just as she sees something dark and looming coming through.

She feels warm wet between her legs when the quantity of brown fur comes into full view.  A thousand possibilities fly into her mind: yelling, screaming, staying quiet, playing dead, petting it because why the fuck not since she's about to die in the woods.  She freezes though and just doesn't do anything.  The bear is upon her, sniffing and batting her.  She swallows the pain and doesn't make a sound, playing possum.

The bear sniffs her some more, then thunders off in another direction.  Her foot really hurts now and her face is scraped up from allowing herself to just fall where the bear plopped her down.

Her foot still has a soggy, wet, dirty sock on it and has swelled and shrunken depending on cause in those conditions.  She begins genuinely fearing that her foot may be lost.  And really, what if the bear gets desperate and comes back?

Dear God,

Ok, I've broken my ankle, it's raining, I'm cold, I've been attacked by a bear, II'm sitting in my own piss, and it's getting dark.  I'm getting pretty scared now.  So here goes:

In second grade when I told everyone that Billy Williams farted in music class, he really didn't.  It was me.  In seventh grade when I told everyone Sarah Stone lost her virginity to Sam Spoede, she really didn't.  It was me.  In tenth grade when I told everyone that Tyson Barson was masturbating in the girl's bathroom, that was true.  I just didn't mention the part where I convinced him it would be hot if he did and that I watched for a while.

I don't even feel all that embarrassed.  I guess you already knew any of these things I'm telling you anyway.

With her head slightly cleared, she came up with a plan.  She hopped a little farther, then started gathering leaves and branches.  She made a pile and crawled into it to do her best to stay warm.  There was no way she would make it back to the car before morning and anyway, even if she did, she wouldn't be able to go anywhere when she got to her car.  She shivered, and slept.

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