Lost And Attacked

𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘹, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 "𝘎𝘰𝘥" 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥. 𝘐 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘹 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥.

With my shoes in one hand and a large stick I found in the other, I begin walking across another stream. My toes twitch in the icy water, where a leaf occasionally attaches to my ankle. There isn't much occurring as this is the fourth day I have been in here. No knowledge on how i got here or why I am here. Just another roadblock for soon questions to have answers too.

My stomach grumbles once again as in the distance I see massive rock. I go up to the massive rock, which from the hight of it appears to have a magnificent view. My back is slouching from the weight of the bag from the items I found during the previous three nights. It's not elegant, since I now understand how individuals with chronic back pain feel. It feels like a swarm of needles are piercing my back. A lot of the rock I start climbing on is smooth; there are a few minor hard sections here and there, but not enough to make climbing difficult.

The view is beautiful as I sit down and let my legs drop down the ledge of the rock. It appears to have been painted by a painter. Trees swinging in the breeze, with light shining through at just the correct angle and intensity. It looks like Bob Ross could paint it all over again, with the same stream reflection on the light and the uncommon cloud.

As I breathe on my hands to feel any heat, they started to get warm then cold once again. My bag is on my lap, facing me, with the zipper facing in the upward direction. My left hand grabs the bag, and my right begins to unzip it, revealing the notebook and a dead sammon for which I use the stick to kill the flesh for. There is also a few shards of glass, which I need for severeal reasons. How I found glass is still a mystery I doubt to answer. I'm not sure if I should call it a mircale or just plain out luck.

I remove the dead sammon and glass shard from the bag and set it on the rock, ensuring that my bag does not fall into the river ahead of me. The sammon is dead and gazing at me as I flip the fish in the opposite direction, making sure its eyes don't look at me while I cook its lifeless flesh. The jabbing sensation starts to irritate my skin as I watch the little specks of blood coming out as I grip the glass shard by the edges. The sun's rays begin to pierce the glass, causing little flames to appear before being extinguished by the wind. . .many times before it finally starts to cook.

My right hand covers one of the sides, and I begin to watch the fish cook slow but steadily. I sometimes flip it over to the other side while waiting for it to cook. My right hand would accidentally go beneath the flame each time I flipped the samon, before quickly flipping it with my heart was beating. I almost toss the sammon back into the stream a few times, but thankfully I manage to avoid it.

I decide to go for a stroll while eating...but I'm aware that there's a good potential that a bear will come along and devour my life (despite the fact that I haven't seen a bear yet) or that I'll make it out with no food for the day. My arm swoops into my backpack strap, where I drop the glass shard and wip my fingers onto my sweater. Then I grab the finally cooked salmon after almost half an hour and use the skin as a heatpad till it cools down, I begin walking down the rock. and got off the rock with easy balence.

I began walking, looking around to realize that the path I'm on isn't the one that I was walking from last night. It's much different now, with longer streams, more trees, and natural noises filling my ears. I come to a halt and turn to the side to see massive salmons swimming and, out in the distance, a massive bear. A thunderous roar can be in the distance when the bear spots the dead fish. It's eyes target towards me. I'm not sure what kind of bear it is, so I start running before it gets too near to the fish.

When a grizzly bear roars at me, I remember learning many years ago that there are two sorts of bears and what you should do about them. With a black bear or any other non-grizzly bear, it's always a matter of finding something to fight with, such as sticks or twigs or rocks, even kicking it in the face. When it comes to grizzly bears, I've learned that playing dead is key and to never fight back. As I lay down, I begin to flutter my eyelids backward and hold my breath as long while possible as I watch the bear charging towards me, claws in front of me and howling in the background.

It took a while before the bear came up to me.

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘪𝘳. . .

. . 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘪𝘳. . .

. . 𝘈𝘪𝘳. . .𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥. . .𝘮𝘦. . .

My body is stiffening and stiffening, and every second feels like a minute. And each minute seems to stretch into an hour. The black abyss begins to fill with swrils of colour and forms, and time becomes unkown. My heart was beating as though it were heavy drums. And the need for breath grows stronger and stronger. The sounds of the actual world begin to dull, and. . .

I open my eyes and see no bear; my head swoops forward, and I sit on the side of a large stream, where the bear, who knows where it has gone, has vanished. I look into the landscape for a few minutes, a tremendous sigh of relaxation on my face. Somewhat due to my prior knowledge of nature. The same view from the rock is still there, only at a closer range where I can take long breaths to slow my pulse rate down.

I get up and start walking again, this time in a route I've never gone before, wondering how I'm going to make it home. . .