The Traveller
The crisp midnight air was too refreshing for his worn lungs. He reaches for his chest pocket and digs around the worn brown plaid lining of his over shirt and fishes out a dented box of cigarettes and a book of matches. He tugs a match through the book and lights up the cigarette. While blowing cloud he limps over to his rusted burgundy truck. Taking a deep inhale of the pungent smoke he hoists himself into the flatbed lays on his back and looks up at the stars. It had been days since he had eaten. He looks to his right at his cooler. Reaching over he slides his hand into the box and fumbles around grasping for something. He tips the cooler over raining water and ice right on his head. His yelp echos through the dense forest, only to be greeted with the howl of wolves. His eyes widen in fear. He had fended off wolves before, but then he had a m-16, and three other people with him. Now he was alone, defenseless, hungry and an open target. “Stupid,” the thinks to himself, “if I had...