Not long after starting to walk the wind picks up and shakes the branches. The forest becomes darker as the wall of clouds obscures the sun. Then the rain falls.

Rain drops the size of quarters fall piercing through the dense canopy. The ground quickly becomes mud deeper than my ankles. And too deep for the carriage. A leaf torn from it’s branch becomes plastered to my right cheek. Everything is soaked as the rain gets beneath the old poncho I wore. 

In a futile effort to escape from the rain I sit under the caisson until the storm passes.

That night, after the rain stopped, was cold. 

In desperation I sprinkle a charge of gunpowder from the caisson over a pile of broken branches. Even the gunpowder refused to ignite as i labored with flint and steel through the night.

When the morning came, the rising sun greeted our three weary travelers. After I hitched the horses to the carriage progress was painfully slow. The horses exhausted from the rain and cold were barley a match for the heavy load and stubborn mud. 

The cart caught on each and every rock and snare, the laborious process of rough branches to lift the wheel over an exposed root I would have to lay down branches to make a ramp then go to the back and help push. By noon we reached a clearing where a large creek swollen well beyond it’s size had cleared it’s own path through the forest.

I released the horses to graze, and munched on some of the less exotic plant life. For you curious folks it tastes like a mix between licorice and dandelion milk. As I sit I feel the fatigue weigh down on my eyes with one last look to see if the horses were fine I fell asleep. 

When I woke up it was dark. The creek had retired to its original bed. The full moon’s blue glow illuminated the stream.  I knew I needed a bath with all the mud on me and my clothes.

Not wanting to be naked more than necessary I only take my shoes and socks off before I lower myself into the stream. The water is cold and quickly becomes cloudy as the layers of mud are carried off. 

As the water becomes clear I stand up and start drying myself off with the damp blanket from the caisson. “Wet towels are no fun.” I say to myself as I unbutton my shirt. And pause, blink, “when did I get pecs?”

I poke them, and instead of the firmness of toned muscle it is soft enough to feel the ribs beneath. I slide my hand down into my pants and I shudder as I realized I am no longer a man. Not that anyone would be able to tell when I was wearing anything.

The night appears darker than before. I shudder as the gravity of the situation weighs down on my heart. I am a stranger not only to this world but also myself.

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I think I have my spelling and gram crackers in the right order now. It would be a great help if people would call out the mistakes I make. I would describe writing as one of my biggest weak points, and it would be great if I could get some free knowledge. ~ Hatt