015 - wobble

Bill pulled the layers of brush off of his shivering body. He was filthy, naked, bruised, and bloody. He stood up, and his body trembled under this new stress. It was cold out, yet it was sunny. He looked around, and he asked himself the same question he had asked himself these last few days:

"Where am I?"

Bill only remembered three days ago vaguely. He had been in a bar in Berlin--he remembered getting wasted, getting in some argument. A fight had ensued, and he believed that he had been knocked out, although this last detail he did not exactly remember, but rather guessed at given the pounding in his head and the bruises to corroborate the theory.

He woke up lying on the cold ground, not remembering much of anything, three days ago. He tried to follow some faint footprints, but they led him nowhere. Now he was cold, tired, weak, hungry, and alone. Tall evergreens surrounded him everywhere.

In his three days of attempted wilderness survival, he hadn't had much luck. Starving on the first day, he found some berries, and decided to give them a try. Oh, how he vomited. He was even worse off now, although fortunately he did find some water that evening that, while apparently potable, was very cold and froze him to his core.

Yesterday, he fell into a bit of a gully, cutting himself up even worse than before. He had nothing, nothing but his raw skin, and his feet were perhaps the worst of all, torn to shreds.

And today, things weren't looking much better. It was definitely getting noticeably colder by the day, and he was still starving. Worse, he could tell his sense of direction was getting him nowhere. He had stumbled along these days, hoping to finally exit the dark forest, and stumble upon some civilization, some humanity, something. Anything.

Yet he looked around, the chilly wind swept through the trees, making them shake and whine. But that was the only noise he heard. The only noise he ever heard.

Bill was so alone. Scared, and alone.