A/N~Thanks to my ONE person who reviewed...sigh. But hey I'm gonna keep writting anyway please please please R&R!
The mountains of Virginia were forbidding to even the most experienced survivalists. I was just an eight your old boy, with a little bit of food he took from his house, a few changes of clothes, matches, and a steak knife. By all rights I should have died.
The first night was the worst. I was too scared to go in a cave to find shelter, and had no choice but to lay on the ground and be soaked with dew. I kept on being faced with visions of a bobcat looming up in the darkness, ready to sink his teeth in my neck.
I shivered. There was no way I was going to live through the night, much less the rest of my life. I heard a howl in the distance. Maybe a coyote.
I clutched my jacket, struggling for a bit of warmth, praying for the sun to come up and make it warm again.
Slowly the night dragged on. I survived.
I realized that if I had any hope of living, I had to find shelter. I spent the next day walking as far from a town as I could, searching for a cave. Finally I found one, set in the side of a cliff. I could see most everything around me. It was unlikely that anything would be able to sneak up on me without my knowing it.
I would have plenty of screaming time before I turned into prey.
I gathered some wood and stared a small fire in the cave, close to the entrance so the smoke would go out. Some of the food I had brought from home, canned Vienna sausage, looked very inviting. I sat down and ate ravenously. Even my child's mind realized that I had to ration my food.
But rations run out, I knew. I didn't know what I was to do then.
I lived in the cave for several days, until my food was dwindling dangerously low. I had to hunt.
My father was never exactly the bonding type. He would go hunting and leave me at him. I had no idea how it was done, and I could hardly see in the dark. Plus, I had no shotgun. Just a steak knife.
I had seen several squirrels racing by earlier in the day. Could I catch them? No.
A rabbit? Not likely.
Then, there, I saw my ticket.
A raccoon was waddling his way to the creek below, slowly, cautiously, moving almost like a cat. I grabbed my steak knife and crept down there.
I didn't make it halfway before he heard me and darted off.
I threw my knife down in frustration. It wasn't fair! I needed to eat, and he had the nerve to just run away!
Pouting, I hiked back up to my cave. Thankfully it was still unoccupied. I opened my last can of Vienna sausage and ate one. I saved the rest, hoping nothing would get into it.
I put out my fire, still disgusted at my inability to hunt. I went to sleep.
Not too long after that, I was woken up by a noise. I sat up slowly, and what did I see? That dammed raccoon eating MY sausage!
Well, I grabbed my steak knife and before that raccoon knew what hit him he had a knife in his side. He fell the short distance to the ground with a dull thud.
I stood in shock for a few seconds. Then, it dawned on me. I had food! And it could last for several days, weeks if I stretched it enough!
On that night I swore I would forever testify to the wonder of steak knives. I ripped the skin off the raccoon, (a gruesome task) and smoothed it out as best I could. It might make a good blanket or something.
Sometime I had seen someone making jerky on TV, and that had stuck with me. I pulled out the main organs of the raccoon, (I didn't know what to do with them,) and smoked the rest of it. Then I set to work getting some of the meat off the skin to make jerky as well. By the time I had done most of what I had to, the sun was peeking over the horizon.
I laid the raccoon skin out on a sunny rock to dry out. I didn't know if that was the right way to do things, but it would have to work.
I tasted some of the jerky. It wasn't exactly what you would call flavorful, but it would do. I would survive.
In spite of the grievous nature of my situation, I smiled. I could live, I proved that now, didn't I? Eight years old, I had tamed the Blue Ridge wilderness.
Then I heard the coyote's howl in the distance, and I realized: no one could tame this. All you could do was survive.
The mountains of Virginia were forbidding to even the most experienced survivalists. I was just an eight your old boy, with a little bit of food he took from his house, a few changes of clothes, matches, and a steak knife. By all rights I should have died.
The first night was the worst. I was too scared to go in a cave to find shelter, and had no choice but to lay on the ground and be soaked with dew. I kept on being faced with visions of a bobcat looming up in the darkness, ready to sink his teeth in my neck.
I shivered. There was no way I was going to live through the night, much less the rest of my life. I heard a howl in the distance. Maybe a coyote.
I clutched my jacket, struggling for a bit of warmth, praying for the sun to come up and make it warm again.
Slowly the night dragged on. I survived.
I realized that if I had any hope of living, I had to find shelter. I spent the next day walking as far from a town as I could, searching for a cave. Finally I found one, set in the side of a cliff. I could see most everything around me. It was unlikely that anything would be able to sneak up on me without my knowing it.
I would have plenty of screaming time before I turned into prey.
I gathered some wood and stared a small fire in the cave, close to the entrance so the smoke would go out. Some of the food I had brought from home, canned Vienna sausage, looked very inviting. I sat down and ate ravenously. Even my child's mind realized that I had to ration my food.
But rations run out, I knew. I didn't know what I was to do then.
I lived in the cave for several days, until my food was dwindling dangerously low. I had to hunt.
My father was never exactly the bonding type. He would go hunting and leave me at him. I had no idea how it was done, and I could hardly see in the dark. Plus, I had no shotgun. Just a steak knife.
I had seen several squirrels racing by earlier in the day. Could I catch them? No.
A rabbit? Not likely.
Then, there, I saw my ticket.
A raccoon was waddling his way to the creek below, slowly, cautiously, moving almost like a cat. I grabbed my steak knife and crept down there.
I didn't make it halfway before he heard me and darted off.
I threw my knife down in frustration. It wasn't fair! I needed to eat, and he had the nerve to just run away!
Pouting, I hiked back up to my cave. Thankfully it was still unoccupied. I opened my last can of Vienna sausage and ate one. I saved the rest, hoping nothing would get into it.
I put out my fire, still disgusted at my inability to hunt. I went to sleep.
Not too long after that, I was woken up by a noise. I sat up slowly, and what did I see? That dammed raccoon eating MY sausage!
Well, I grabbed my steak knife and before that raccoon knew what hit him he had a knife in his side. He fell the short distance to the ground with a dull thud.
I stood in shock for a few seconds. Then, it dawned on me. I had food! And it could last for several days, weeks if I stretched it enough!
On that night I swore I would forever testify to the wonder of steak knives. I ripped the skin off the raccoon, (a gruesome task) and smoothed it out as best I could. It might make a good blanket or something.
Sometime I had seen someone making jerky on TV, and that had stuck with me. I pulled out the main organs of the raccoon, (I didn't know what to do with them,) and smoked the rest of it. Then I set to work getting some of the meat off the skin to make jerky as well. By the time I had done most of what I had to, the sun was peeking over the horizon.
I laid the raccoon skin out on a sunny rock to dry out. I didn't know if that was the right way to do things, but it would have to work.
I tasted some of the jerky. It wasn't exactly what you would call flavorful, but it would do. I would survive.
In spite of the grievous nature of my situation, I smiled. I could live, I proved that now, didn't I? Eight years old, I had tamed the Blue Ridge wilderness.
Then I heard the coyote's howl in the distance, and I realized: no one could tame this. All you could do was survive.
