Damn it, Wilson!

I fell asleep again and woke up to the mid-morning sun beating down on my face. The mysterious fire starter has not shown himself, but the daylight has revealed his previous attempts. Piles of ash and mangled twigs litter the area, giving the place a 'middle of a hurricane' look, if that hurricane had also been on fire. I have heard that can happen in some countries, and I hope I am not in such a place.

It has occurred to me that if I have discovered the key to wormholes, then it would be possible for others to do the same. It is quite possible this firestarter is another lost scientist, thrown into this world against his will. If that is the case, how long has he been here? It is clear he is not skilled when it comes to constructing campfires, as my ashy surroundings suggest, but he may have no need for fires, and set one up simply for my benefit. But that makes no sense, why go to all the effort of keeping me safe when he does not even know me? Does he intend to assess me from afar? To see if I am worthy of his trust? Or maybe it was a passing act of kindness, and he has no interest in me?

As is obvious, search for the firestarter has been fruitless. So I have replaced it with the far more fruit-based and consequentially more fruitful search for food. During this mornings wanderings, I discovered a bush adorned with red berries, which I have stuffed into my pockets. As much as my stomach crows, I will not eat them just yet. Any good survivalist cooks his food to free it of toxins before consumption, and I have little interest in death by sickness.

It has dawned on me that without the help of the individual, I could be out of luck when the night returns. So, in preparation, I have equipped myself with some sharp rocks I have discovered. I have used these to collect several sticks from nearby trees, as well as a branch or two. My hands sting and the rocks are now bloody, but I have what I need. I have also collected a few others rocks that have shown promising sparks when bumped together, and I am prepared for the night ahead. In other news, my stomach has reached new levels of agony and my body is losing what little energy it had as I write this, but I cannot sate it. I will not waste my precious firewood until the night is here.

As I write this, I am sitting on the branch of a mighty evergreen, overlooking the horizon. I have decided to use this great tree as my base, as it provides protection from the elements and an excellent view. In the east, I can see a desert, a cracked tundra as far the eyes can see. In the north and west lies mountains, and in the south is yet more forest. The sun is saying its final goodbyes now as it crests over the snow-capped slopes.

It is now the night of day two, and I am alive. Who knew all those camping trips with my father would pay off like this? The berries were quite nice, if unfulfilling, and I have not yet shat myself to death. I need to get home. Who knows what this new world might hold, and how long my mediocre survival skills will keep me alive in the face of new challenges? I have only seen those strange butterflys, but only because I have not strayed too far. what of winter? And of rain? I have only the rags I came here with, how will I even sleep? What if I get sick, or break something?

Oh Charlie, my dearest Charlie, do you even know what has befallen me? Do you think me dead? And Maxwell, what of you my friend? Are you consoling her in her time of grief? Did they fall victims to the gate as well, stuck in this strange plane as I am?

Wishful thinking. If they had, they would have been here, or at least nearby. No, I am alone here, and I must get back if I wish to see them once more. I will not let this world defeat me, for their sake if not my own.