Over the past couple of weeks, Wilson P. Higgsbury had seen many, many things. Although a majority of what he had observed appeared to be impossible, the man had, after hours and hours of contemplating everything, came to accept the possibility that he'd either gone insane, or really was trapped in an unknown land. But he still felt uncertain. The only way Wilson's restless mind could settle down was by seeing solid evidence; at least some kind of proof that what he was experiencing was real, and not just a dream, or hallucination, created by his own wretched brain.
Wilson hated anything that was unexplainable. Things that he still couldn't understand, even after extended amounts of time spent researching the subject. After using a great amount of strength and willpower just trying to make it through the first few days in the wilderness, the scientist's mind had become groggy, and he himself was aware of that. Knowing that he was exhausted and not thinking clearly, Wilson had come to the temporary conclusion that what he was seeing and feeling was his mind's creation. However, the man did have to admit that if this was a dream, it was pretty realistic, so realistic it almost felt unnatural.
He hated it. Almost nothing seemed to make sense. If science couldn't explain this world, then what could? Magic?
As time went on, though, his adamant train of thought began to disappear, and the scientist began to doubt the possibility of everything just being an illusion. Maybe the voice on the radio; the so-called "Maxwell", wasn't even real. But Wilson was sure that he had built the strange machine. This Maxwell was the one who had instructed him to do it in the first place. His hand was still sore from cutting it with the knife, and the wound was still visibly there. This had to be real.
If this world truly is just a sham... then have I gone mad?
"No, no... That cannot be it. I hope." the man said aloud. His voice sounded raspy, and it was obvious that he had gone through tremendous amounts of both physical and mental exertion.
Wilson huddled closer to the too-small fire he had managed to make a while ago. He was surprised it had lasted this long, considering the meager amount of resources he had used to create the tiny bundle of flames. It continued to shrink smaller and smaller, until the blaze provided almost no light.
He would be enveloped in pitch-black darkness soon if he didn't feed the fire more fuel. In no less than a second, the gentleman picked up the collection of twigs and grass he had harvested earlier, and threw them into the flames with one frantic movement. The fire devoured the grass and twigs in an instant, and it seemed to grow a significant deal larger. It gave off more warmth, and allowed Wilson to see much farther than he was able to before. He sighed with relief. It looked like he would continue to live for at least another night.
Wilson tried to smile, but it came out very vague.
"I should try to be happy about the fact that I've even survived this long. Spending my days sulking is not going to assist or ensure my survival in this wilderness! I must spend my days and resources wisely."
Staying optimistic about my current situation is a key factor in retaining a stable and logical mindset. Insanity is not the way to go... but if I've already gone mad, then there's nothing I can do about it.
"I will admit, though, that it would be nice to have... perhaps a bit of motivation to continue living like this. Some encouragement from someone other than myself..." he whispered.
Is this what it feels like to be lonely?
The man mentally hit himself for having such a childish thought.
"I'm not thinking clearly. Sleep is the best option for me at this moment."
With that, Wilson positioned his body a safe distance away from the flames, and fell into a restless sleep.
This is my first Don't Starve fanfic, so I hope this first little chapter is okay! ;w; I guess you could call this a "two-shot" story, instead of a one-shot (since this'll have two pretty short chapters). Feedback is appreciated!