I woke up to the dense fog of the Canadian wilderness. I stretched out my thin, bony arms and rubbed my puffy eyes which started to burn because of the smoke. After scarfing down greasy turtle eggs, I went about my daily chores: hunt, feed the fire, clean the campsite, and eat, all the while the intense heat of the sun was beating down on me.

     Two months. Two months is how long I've been here. Here in this prison of pine trees. And today, it got worse. As I was cleaning out the fish trays, I heard a soft, angry agitated noise. I barely had enough time to turn around when a mass of dense, brown fur rammed into my right side. I wailed and fainted.

     When I woke up, a knob covered in thick, red blood was where my right arm should be. "HELP!" I screamed. "I'm DYING!"

     "Enough!" my mind replied. "You WILL live!"

     I didn't care. I fainted again.

     However, when I woke up the second time, I was in a hospital bed; a slick, plastic arm where the knob had been. I realized now. I was rescued. Rescued. I was rescued.

By Ryan