Today I drank the last drops of water from mud at the bottom of a puddle. It wasn't enough.
Waves lap the shoreline behind me. Water. I would give anything to dip my face in it, let it run down my throat... I must get there, even if I have to drag myself on my stomach.
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I lost consciousness pulling myself to the lake, and only feet from the water. It might as well be miles. I tell myself it is better this way, with less suffering. I will die in half a week without water. But oh, how my throat aches! My tongue is swollen and cottony between my cracked lips. My hands shake and I can't hold the pen. I won't write again.
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The sky is light again. I am still alive. This morning I dragged myself, through the pain, to water. And it was good. No, it was the best thing I've ever done. My entire body is alive with moisture.
My legs hurt. I think they're getting worse. Tiny movements send excruciating bolts of pain spiraling through my body. I lie, drenched in sweat, huddled uncomfortably on my side, but not daring to move away from the water.
There isn't much paper left. Won't last me long.
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Another daybreak. I can hear the birds singing. The bugs buzzing. My neck and face are covered in mosquito bites. First, I ignored them. Then they were welcome distractions. Now they are driving me insane. They crawl over my hands, my arms, my face. Every time I try to flick them off, the pain knocks me down. Now I only move when thirst becomes unbearable.
My hand clenches the small coin I found in my pocket, and I take comfort in the familiar shape. The coin, paper, and an empty, reeking sandwich bag: My only possessions. Turning the coin, I watch it reflect the light, and try not to think about the bag. But I do anyway.
I'm in the shining, clean kitchen, humming as I lay a piece of bologna on the bread, and...
And I am hungry. Hungrier than I have ever been in my life. I've missed meals. Gone all day, even. But it has never, ever, been like this.
All day ants have crawled down my arms, while I wished I dared move enough to get them off. Their tiny black bodies taunt me. But even the tiny, rhythmic scratching of my pen sends spasms of pain down my legs.
Ants are edible. People in other countries eat them. I don't. But I am so hungry. Without thinking, I grabbed one, shoved it in my mouth and swallowed. It was sour and stuck to my tongue. Nearly retching, I grabbed another. And another. Soon I was tearing up the leaf mold with my hands. There were grubs too. I ate them, and still more ants, but it was not enough. I will never, ever be full.
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The sun is sinking. The pain is a little better now, and for the first time I can think; not of my body, but of other people. If I can just stay alive for a few days, maybe...
I should know better. I know what these woods look like from the sky. There are millions of lakes, my plane is completely submerged, and I am invisible. I will not be found, even if I wait months.
Earlier, I forced myself to look, at my torn jeans, thighs muddy from when I dragged myself from the plane. At my legs, sticking out at the wrong angles.
Before I didn't want to die. Now, I would give anything not to die alone.
The sky looks dark with rain, so I'm sealing these pages in my empty sandwich bag to protect them.
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A golden lab bounded in front as two hikers trudged through the brush. The girl clutched at her father's hand, eyes unseeing as she turned her head to catch sounds and scents.
“You said it was close! I wanna go back to camp.”
“Oh, come on! We didn't come this far for nothing. I loved this lake as a kid.”
Breaking through the brush, he helped her over a fallen log into the open.
“Gosh, it's exactly how I remember it!” He slapped a mosquito, taking her arm again and guiding her towards the water. “The water is blue against the trees.”
She stumbled on the rocks, smiling as the light fell on her cheek.
“Should I call Sam?” The dog, after slurping noisily at the lake water, shook himself enthusiastically, spraying them with water.
“Ah! I thought you said he was trained already!” she winced, wiping her face.
“He is fully certified,” he answered testily. “Just needs more socialization.”
“He's eating something, I can hear it. Can't we leave now?”
“I guess so. I just wanted to see it.”
“Wait, Dad. What does he have?”
“Nothing—he's dug up someone's trash. Odd. Nobody comes up here.”
Moving forward, he pulled the plastic bag from the rocks, dusting off the clay.
“It's a.... letter, or something.” He opened it. The words had blurred in places, blue ink spreading and dissolving where years of rain had worked their way inside.
Slowly, he read it aloud. Silence fell on the woods around them, the bird song muted, the wind dying in the pines.
Finishing, he dropped his hands. “The rest is gone.” He looked around at the empty shore.
She nodded. “But she isn't alone. Because of us.”
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