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 hadn’t locked myself out I could run over those dumb dogs, heh.” Sitting up he examines the back window of the truck. “I may be able to smash it. Yeah that’s a good plan” he hops out of the back and lands on his feet. He winces in pain. “I musta broken a damn toe.” 

Scouring the ground, searching for some stone to help smash is window the man comes up empty. The wolves howl once more, this time much closer.

“Oh shit,” the mutters. He looks back to his truck. A smile shoots across his face. He jumps back into the flatbed. Grabbing the cooler he smashes it against the window. The cooler bounces back smashing the man’s nose. The shock from the cooler makes him stumble back. He steps on an ice cube and falls back on the trunk section, snapping it off from the truck. The man and the truck section falls on the ground.