Each step I took sunk roughly an inch into the soft, dense detritus that covered the ground. I could tell by feeling, not by sight: the canopy was too thick for light. Too thick for rain, too, which I suppose I should be thankful for. But it’s hard to maintain feelings of gratitude when you haven’t eaten in three days and have no underbrush to forage through for berries. I would consider eating insects at this point, but there’s no sign of those either, and having already tried and failed to get sustenance from tree sap, I’m nearly at my limits. I can already feel the weakness creeping up my limbs. I still have a little bit of hope. Although I don’t know how to hunt, there’s clearly life in this forest, and I have proof. At the beginning of either day or night, I can’t tell which, there is a birdsong that gets repeated for about two minutes before disappearing. Birds eat insects, or snakes, but I’m pretty sure they don’t eat leaves. If there’s birds, there’s food, maybe even wetlands that provide an oasis of sorts. Trees don’t grow in deep water, right? So I’ve spent the last two days or so heading toward where I believe the birds are. It was hard to move in the beginning. I kept bumping into trees and tripping, and my stomach hurt from hunger. But I’ve adjusted since then to focus on my hearing more and to tune out  the pain. I have to say, the human body is remarkably adaptable. I suppose the mind is too. Despite having been forcefully transported to a wilderness thicker than should be possible,  I have yet to feel anything close to panic. Instead, I feel only a razor sharp focus. It’s due to that same focus that I’ve been able to walk this long without falling asleep or getting lost, although that last part is loosely defined. I’m lost overall, yes, but I’ve at least kept the direction of the birds. And so, I have hope. I just need to keep walking.

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The detritus here is harder somehow, a little dryer. My footsteps crack here, which I’m sure would alert any prey if I were hunting. Which I’m not.

The last few hours(?) have gotten me confused and a little distracted, I must be honest. I was walking towards the birds, I remember, but birds in forests don’t all live in the same place. Unless they are different types of birds? 

I guess there could be an oasis, like I said. And why is there only that one bird singing? Wouldn’t there usually be multiple? I’m confused, and getting tired. My steps are growing slower, but I know I’m almost there. I just have to keep walking.

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You won’t believe this, but there’s a house here! Just a second ago, I bumped into something hollow, and discovered it was actually a door. I opened it out of curiosity, and here I am. 

The interior is just small enough to be lit by the fire on one end, and there’s even a table in the middle with cookies on it! And a bed! It looks like nobody lives here, but if they do, they surely won’t mind. I almost eat all of the sugar cookies before deciding to leave one behind. I wouldn’t want to be a rude guest, after all.  I’m still hungry, but I’m too tired to think about that right now. How many hours did I just walk back to back? The bed in the corner calls to me. It’s not like it there are any animals around. It couldn’t hurt to get some sleep. . .

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I wake up thirsty, hungry, and sore in the legs, but also aware. This house is definitely strange. The whole thing is made of wood, including the floor and table, but there doesn’t seem to be any border with the fireplace. In fact, the fireplace itself looks to be made of wood. Additionally, there is no oven or cookware to bake cookies. Who made a fire here, and how? Why did they just leave behind a bunch of cookies? The bedsheets were also mysteriously clean considering the fact that it’s owner lives in the middle of the forest. All and all, it gives a bit of an unsettling impression. At least nothing happened to the one cookie I left behind. That would be creepy. I promptly eat said cookie before heading out the door into darkness. Right.

Luckily, the ground is literally made of firewood. With some effort,  I pull one out of the entanglement and into the house. I take a second to admire the appearance of the simple stick. It looks to belong to some sort of pine tree, with a spiny texture and an almost citrusy scent. How many of these little guys did I break on my way here? The count is about to go up again. 

I unceremoniously stick the stick into the fire. It takes a few seconds, but it goes up in flames. All according to my predictions. It also produces smoke. 

Eh?

 I hadn’t noticed, but the fireplace is completely smokeless. There’s not even a chimney! How did I not suffocate? Also, the torch idea is going to be a problem. Barely ten seconds have passed but the flame is  already tiny. I suppose it makes sense, it’s a stick and not a torch, but somehow I feel disappointed. I glance at the mysteriously ever-burning  logs in the fireplace before discarding my budding idea.  Even assuming I found a way to carry the fire without burning my whole body, the moment I trip and drop it, I’ll have a forest fire on my hands. Also, what would I even do with the light? It provide comfort, certainly,  as well as a fair bit of speed compared to walking in the dark, but I don’t yet have a real destination anyway. Also, while not especially heavy, the fire adds weight in a situation where I need to conserve my energy. My food problem is far from solved just because I ate a dozen cookies. That being said, I would like to avoid walking in the dark as much as possible. While I can use my ears and feet to detect trees to an extent, it requires focus and stamina. Even when completely attuned to my senses it’s still easy to trip and stumble on the unexpected lumps and divets that occasionally appear. Additionally, I never know when my foot is about to be snagged by a an upward curling stick. Both problems could be solved with a light source.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As for the food issue, I don’t really have a plan. Common sense dictates that I wait for the owner of this house to return and work things out from there, but that plan has a couple of problems. Until the owner returns, I’m stuck waiting for an unknown person with unknown motivations for an unknown amount of time. For all I know, those cookies could have been twenty years old, kept pristine by whatever it is that kept the fire fueled for an entire night(?) as I slept. The owner could already be dead. I’m pretty sure I’m better off taking my chances with the wilderness, and pretty sure is about as good as I’m going to get. So I take one last look over the room, double checking that my torch idea truly is impossible. 

If I remember correctly, you need cloth soaked in oil for a proper torch. The pillow case could work as cloth, but it would be pretty much pointless without oil. Unless I’m planning on walking for under thirty minutes, a makeshift torch wouldn’t last me the whole way. It might save me ten minutes at best. Still, that’s better than nothing. I get to work, bundling sticks from outside and wrapping the tip in torn pillowcase before thinking better and using a single straight branch. About five minutes of fumbling later, my creation is complete, and I stick it into flame to ignite. From here on out, It will be a race against time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Walking through the forest with a torch in hand qualifies as a completely different experience. The difference between seeing and feeling out my footing is no less than night and day, and it also allows me to look at my environment. I can now comfortably confirm that no moths (or other light attracted insects for that matter) seem to inhabit the forest as none surround my torch. I can less comfortably confirm that no animal tracks or droppings are around: besides my footsteps, not a single branch is broken. Although, to be fair, my sample size is limited. Still, it’s troubling. Don’t plants typically require animals to fertilize them? Where on earth do these trees get their nitrogen otherwise? Speaking of which, the trees. I had already guessed as much, but I’m currently in some kind of coniferous forest. My torchlight is too limited to make out the height of the canopy, but, judging by the thickness of the trunks, I would hazard a guess of about 40 feet. Not terribly large or old. Right now, it’s raining, but the canopy seems to be blocking it down to the last drop. It’s a bit annoying, actually. Earlier, I was able to take advantage of the rain’s potential as drinking water by letting it run down the tree trunks and into my shirt, but here it looks like I can’t even do that. Seriously, how hasn’t a single lightning strike leveled this whole forest to the floor? It’s dry enough, and there’s plenty of fuel. I can only sigh as I lament the absence of a readily available tour guide to address my complaints with the forest. That, and pick up the pace. My initial estimations put my torch’s duration at about 30 minutes, and it’s done well so far. But a pillowcase only has so much cloth, and the light is already dimming. Soon, I’ll be in the dark once again.

-  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I’m in the dark once again, and it’s not pleasant. I almost regret leaving the cabin without any way of tracing back to it. Oh well. What’s done is done. Right now, I’m sitting and trying to save some energy. Although the main point is a proactive one: I’d like to prevent the situation where I hear the birdsong (which I’m pretty sure is tied to one location) only to have overshot it on the left or right. Unfortunately, that means waiting. Agonizing waiting.

There are still some embers on the stick so I can’t just set it down, which leaves me dumbly and uncomfortably holding it upright as I sit alone in the dark. At some point, the idea runs through my head to just let the torch fall over, and I’m almost. Would the ground’s wood even burn at all?

Obviously, it’s a stupid question, and one not worth my life testing. Anyone with common sense can tell you that. But that’s exactly the problem: common sense. This is not an ordinary forest. Within the span of two days I’ve seen impossible things, things I would believe because they defy common sense. There’s no way to keep common sense around here, and once you throw out a little, the rest gets called into question. 

Gets you thinking, and not in a good way.  I’ve been thinking and doing some analysis, and my conclusions are not optimistic. From the start, my goal has been to reach the birdsong. So far, it’s lead me into forest with dryer ground: in other words, less exposed. More covered.

Deeper. Wherever I’m going is most certainly not the exit to the forest. And the longer I spend sitting here, the more actively my imagination comes to haunt me. It’s deep and dark and quiet, as though I’m under water. Even the wind and rain sound distant, now. Proof that I’ve come too far to return. Soon, I’m at the bottom of the ocean, filled with a sense of loneliness and fear. So I set my eyes on the only light I can see and allow myself to be mesmerized, comforted by the shifting glow of embers just short of being faded.

By god, I pray I’m not headed toward an anglerfish.

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The bird is loud. It’d have to be, to be heard from five day’s walk away. Or is it six? It might not matter at this point. One more or less day before I die of thirst because of this god-be-damned canopy barely makes a difference . Still, I press on. To the bird, whatever that means. I swear it’s moving away from me, like a carrot on a stick or whoever that mythological greek king it is that can’t drink or eat in the underworld. Or moby dick. Both are apt comparisons. 

 Both are rather depressing. A dozen sugar cookies worked fine for a while, but after about two hours the satiation wears off, and I’m currently on day three. Oddly enough, in the face of starvation and likely death, my most prominent emotion is boredom. Of course, a pinch of despair too. If I were fleeing from some monster i’d at least have adrenaline, endorphins. But as it stands I’m just shambling forward to my death on will alone.  It’s been days since I last slept. Part of me wishes for the torch I dropped who knows how many miles back to st --Ow! This is what I get for not focusing. I’m surprised I haven’t broken my nose with all the trees I’ve walked into. I move on as always but I stop in my tracks. Was that hollow? No way, right? I feel around with trembling hands and encounter a familiar smooth flat surface.  And despite everything, relief floods into me, so much that I want to cry. 

I seal it off. 

 I’m not out of the woods yet. It’s too early to feel hope because of the discovery of another house. All this means, I tell myself, is that I have a little more time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The inside of the second house is identical to the first, save for the fact that it has a small wooden washbasin and about five less cookies on the table. I’m grateful for the water, but was it really necessary to take away the cookies? If anything, I should deserve more because of how long it’s been since I last had a proper meal. Whatever. Right now, water takes precedence. I take a moment to admire my reflection in the bowl; matted needle-filled hair and sunken eyes, accompanied by a small gash on my cheek that really seals the “survivor look”. That better not get infected. Also, could I please have a cup? No? Too bad. I drink deeply from the much-too-large bowl and end up spilling some of the water onto the floor. I’m saddened by the waste but don’t bother cleaning it up. It’s not my fault my host is an uncivilized brute. Also, I’m in the woods. I can do whatever I want. In accordance with that philosophy, I gulp down half of the cookies with a single hand and save the rest for morning (or whatever it is) before plopping down mannerlessly onto the bed. My sandals are on and my posture almost certainly unhealthy, but sleep comes easy to me nonetheless. 

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Everything is easier the second time. Or at least it should be. For some reason I find myself struggling to leave again. I know logically that there is nothing to be accomplished by staying here, but for some reason I can’t help but feel terrified just heading out into the dark and hoping for the best. Like I’m missing something. Do I really have no other choice? 

I find myself circling over and over again, trying to think of some escape. Another torch? No, it’s useless.  Carry the flame? Everything here is flammable.  Sit and wait? I’ll starve to death.

I’m left with the same conclusion: there is nothing I can do. I’m helpless against a bunch of trees. An assemblage of stationary, thoughtless objects too unsophisticated to eat or feel pain, and they’re killing me just by standing there.

Say, this house is fireproof, right? Why don’t I just throw out some of this magical kindling, stay inside, and let nature run it’s course?

But what then? Just because the house is fireproof doesn’t mean that it’s heat proof as well. Or tree proof. If a tree collapses due to some ill advised fire and happens to fall on the roof I’m done for. Even after that, I have no idea where I am. I’d be wandering just the same as before, only with daylight and the potential for death by exposure. Plus, there are moral concerns as well. I don’t have any idea of who or what lives here. What if I accidentally killed someone? Would I be able to live with myself?

More unknowns, more hypotheticals, no answers. For the fith time in two minutes a groan escapes my mouth. What do I need to do to get out of this place?  Think, idiot!  There has to be something. . . 

I end up spending a full minute frantically staring at random parts of the room  before I tire myself out and just lie down on the bed. A soft pillow and warm sheets, with a nice view of the fireplace. Would it really be so bad to just lie down here forever? I almost started to count my regrets   before my gaze wanders to the bowl. Like lightning, an answer arrives. No way, right?

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Innovation, as it turns out, does not entail the creation of the smartest or most elegant solution. Just think back to the very first scuba divers with their funny helmets and ridiculous getups. Or the countless genius inventors whose lives were poured into horribly inefficient planes and wingsuit designs that look like they were drawn up by kids.

 For as stupid as it is, I feel like I’m on top of the world as I walk through the forest holding a stolen fire inside a bowl.  It was a bit tricky getting the burning logs in there and I was worried it would burn (it’s made of wood after all), but it worked out. Somehow, through my defiance of common sense, I pulled a Prometheus! And now I get to bask in the success. It’s a little hot, actually. Since it’s too tiring to hold the bowl away from my body, I find myself awkwardly hugging it to my chest, with somewhat uncomfortable results. Nonetheless, I’m way too excited to care. This represents the first real victory I’ve had since coming here, and it’s one I desperately needed. My steps are no longer weighed down by hopelessness but driven and confident. It’s amazing what a little light can do. For the first time in three days, I hear the bird call, and truly believe that it’s just a little further.