Personally, I cannot decide between a beach, a mountain, or a forest, so I thought it might be interesting to just throw them all together into one breathtaking sight in a far off land. Of course, if we’re going to get technical here, the mountains don’t go all the way to the beach. What I’m picturing is a lush forest with mountain peeks in the background. I’m standing on the edge of a cliff that drops hundreds of feet down to a small inlet with a bit of sand and lots of rocks around it.
What am I doing there? Well, I have stopped to catch my breath. I think I lost those cannibals that were chasing me through the forest. I knocked one of them out with a huge stick and messed up the other’s knee. The rest of them were likely going to find I had escaped and follow my trail. I don’t know how long I have, but I have to stop here or I’ll pass out. This is the first time I’ve been alone since base camp in the mountains.
What was I doing at base camp, you ask? That was where we all were supposed to meet after we came back down from the mountain top. After the blizzard hit, I was the only one that made it back to where we started. I ate all the cold cuts while I was trying to find the emergency radio. All I found was a life raft, so I stuffed that in my bag and headed in the direction I thought there was a river. Instead I found the village.
Thirty seven days I was in that village trying to learn how to communicate with the people. They were friendly and extremely generous with their food supplies. I had all the sweet fruits and baked good that I could want, although they were making me uncomfortable watching me eat. They would show up in the hut they put me in with all this food and wouldn’t leave until I finished all of it. I tried to wave them away and smile, rubbing my belly and making moaning sounds which I thought were universal, but that just made them irritated. One of the men kept giving me horrible looks every time I’d put down my plate, and he’d storm to the back of the hut and argue with some of the other men. They would talk him down but he would still stare daggers at me.
They pulled me from my bed early today and pushed me out the door of the hut. All the people were gathered, but no one would look at me. Then the guy that had been giving me the evil eye shoved me in the direction of the brush. I was being forced into the deep woods. I hadn’t given much thought to an escape because I was still in shock that my fears that I was denying were true: they had been fattening me up.
I should have probably stayed on the mountain by myself and not come into the forest. I would love to make it down to that beach, but I don’t see a way without jumping. If I jump, I will surely land, shall we say, uncomfortably. But which is better? Breaking yourself on jagged rocks or being eaten, possibly alive considering my recent luck.
I hear a rustle in the leaves behind me. I look down at the beach…
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Places.”