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The kid's exhausted. Drained, really. Nothing left of a fight in him; just sitting around waiting for the reaper.
But he's not about to be so lucky and he knows it. Besides, lying there in the jungle all would happen is the cutter ants would get to him, and then he'd really be sorry.
So he picks himself up and looks up the slippery bank he just fell off. Scoops up a bag full of freshly picked teeth, and scrutinizes the river. He shrugs – a small, defeated gesture – and plods on over to wash off the worst of the muck caked to him from sliding belly first into this mess. Kid sharpens up at the water's edge despite himself, looks around carefully for signs of anything in those murky waters he's not quite ready to tangle with just yet.
Even at the river's edge, barely enough sun making it through the thick canopy to see, nevermind make out a reflection against the water. If he could see himself he'd feel even worse. Tall as he is, in his emaciated state he looks cadaverous. The pallid cast of his skin from wandering in the humid gloom of the shadowy jungle doesn't do much for him either; his thick black hair sticking out wildly in every direction is the only thing that looks remotely alive about him.
He makes it quick – just because he can't see it, doesn't mean the river isn't concealing something nasty for him. And he's learned about nasty in this jungle, all kinds of it, kinds he never would have dreamed of back home.
With the worst of the muck sloughed off, he grabs a root and pulls himself back onto the riverbank to continue his trek. Doesn't think about how long it's been, couldn't tell you even if he wanted to. Only one thing on his mind now: keep moving, follow the river.
When he first found the river's edge, he had a plan. Aimed to keep following it until it came to some kind of shore, then follow that to civilization. Even had company, a boy younger than himself, couldn't have been more than 17. Strong willed though. Told the kid to follow him and started pushing through the dense jungle like he knew where he was going.
Few days in, following that snaking black river, they found a path. Hugged, laughed, almost cried – this had to lead to people. Slept on it that night, glad to finally rest without clearing away stinging, bloodsucking, burrowing critters hiding in the undergrowth for once. Kid woke up that night to an angry cry. It had been raining that day and clouds blocked even the slightest hint of illumination, sharpening the kid's hearing. He heard shuffling next to him and stood blindly. A rare shaft of moonlight pierced the canopy and illuminated his companion swatting something off his arms and stumbling backwards over a tree root into the thick ferns with a moan. The moan turned to sharp cries and he rose covered in writhing darkness, the shadows seemed to converge on him and quickly choked off his rising screams, covered his pleading eyes. Numbly stumbling backwards the kid felt a sting and brushed off an ant. He stood for a moment watching the spiny seething mass surge over the boy, and started to run in the opposite direction.
Kid made it to the river at a dead run and leapt clear for the other side. Almost made it, too. Felt something slither as he scrambled frantically onto the river bank. Alone, now.
Stumbles though the underbrush for days, no idea how long. No sleep, just forges ahead keeping that silent sinuous river to his side, every night following scattershot moonlight through to what dim light of dawn filters through the wall of grey cloaking the canopy.
The river twists and coils like an impaled serpent. The kid follows its curves and switchbacks blindly, somehow his body seeming to survive longer with his mind absent.
Shadows cover his pathway and everything around him from morning to dusk. Glistening thorns tear at numb skin, vines trip and tangle, the very earth seems to decay at his step and collapse down to the oily black water's edge again and again.
And the river goes on.
But he's not about to be so lucky and he knows it. Besides, lying there in the jungle all would happen is the cutter ants would get to him, and then he'd really be sorry.
So he picks himself up and looks up the slippery bank he just fell off. Scoops up a bag full of freshly picked teeth, and scrutinizes the river. He shrugs – a small, defeated gesture – and plods on over to wash off the worst of the muck caked to him from sliding belly first into this mess. Kid sharpens up at the water's edge despite himself, looks around carefully for signs of anything in those murky waters he's not quite ready to tangle with just yet.
Even at the river's edge, barely enough sun making it through the thick canopy to see, nevermind make out a reflection against the water. If he could see himself he'd feel even worse. Tall as he is, in his emaciated state he looks cadaverous. The pallid cast of his skin from wandering in the humid gloom of the shadowy jungle doesn't do much for him either; his thick black hair sticking out wildly in every direction is the only thing that looks remotely alive about him.
He makes it quick – just because he can't see it, doesn't mean the river isn't concealing something nasty for him. And he's learned about nasty in this jungle, all kinds of it, kinds he never would have dreamed of back home.
With the worst of the muck sloughed off, he grabs a root and pulls himself back onto the riverbank to continue his trek. Doesn't think about how long it's been, couldn't tell you even if he wanted to. Only one thing on his mind now: keep moving, follow the river.
When he first found the river's edge, he had a plan. Aimed to keep following it until it came to some kind of shore, then follow that to civilization. Even had company, a boy younger than himself, couldn't have been more than 17. Strong willed though. Told the kid to follow him and started pushing through the dense jungle like he knew where he was going.
Few days in, following that snaking black river, they found a path. Hugged, laughed, almost cried – this had to lead to people. Slept on it that night, glad to finally rest without clearing away stinging, bloodsucking, burrowing critters hiding in the undergrowth for once. Kid woke up that night to an angry cry. It had been raining that day and clouds blocked even the slightest hint of illumination, sharpening the kid's hearing. He heard shuffling next to him and stood blindly. A rare shaft of moonlight pierced the canopy and illuminated his companion swatting something off his arms and stumbling backwards over a tree root into the thick ferns with a moan. The moan turned to sharp cries and he rose covered in writhing darkness, the shadows seemed to converge on him and quickly choked off his rising screams, covered his pleading eyes. Numbly stumbling backwards the kid felt a sting and brushed off an ant. He stood for a moment watching the spiny seething mass surge over the boy, and started to run in the opposite direction.
Kid made it to the river at a dead run and leapt clear for the other side. Almost made it, too. Felt something slither as he scrambled frantically onto the river bank. Alone, now.
Stumbles though the underbrush for days, no idea how long. No sleep, just forges ahead keeping that silent sinuous river to his side, every night following scattershot moonlight through to what dim light of dawn filters through the wall of grey cloaking the canopy.
The river twists and coils like an impaled serpent. The kid follows its curves and switchbacks blindly, somehow his body seeming to survive longer with his mind absent.
Shadows cover his pathway and everything around him from morning to dusk. Glistening thorns tear at numb skin, vines trip and tangle, the very earth seems to decay at his step and collapse down to the oily black water's edge again and again.
And the river goes on.
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The kid’s exhausted. Drained, really. Nothing left of a fight in him; just sitting around waiting for the reaper.
But he’s not about to be so lucky and he knows it. Besides, lying there in the jungle all would happen is the cutter ants would get to him, and then he’d really be sorry.
So he picks himself up and looks up the slippery bank he just fell off. Scoops up a bag full of freshly picked teeth, and scrutinizes the river. He shrugs – a small, defeated gesture – and plods on over to wash off the worst of the muck caked to him from sliding belly first into this mess. Kid sharpens up at the water’s edge despite himself, looks around carefully for signs of anything in those murky waters he’s not quite ready to tangle with just yet.
Even at the river’s edge, barely enough sun making it through the thick canopy to see, nevermind make out a reflection against the water. If he could see himself he’d feel even worse. Tall as he is, in his emaciated state he looks cadaverous. The pallid cast of his skin from wandering in the humid gloom of the shadowy jungle doesn’t do much for him either; his thick black hair sticking out wildly in every direction is the only thing that looks remotely alive about him.
He makes it quick – just because he can’t see it, doesn’t mean the river isn’t concealing something nasty for him. And he’s learned about nasty in this jungle, all kinds of it, kinds he never would have dreamed of back home.
With the worst of the muck sloughed off, he grabs a root and pulls himself back onto the riverbank to continue his trek. Doesn’t think about how long it’s been, couldn’t tell you even if he wanted to. Only one thing on his mind now: keep moving, follow the river.
When he first found the river’s edge, he had a plan. Aimed to keep following it until it came to some kind of shore, then follow that to civilization. Even had company, a boy younger than himself, couldn’t have been more than 17. Strong willed though. Told the kid to follow him and started pushing through the dense jungle like he knew where he was going.
Few days in, following that snaking black river, they found a path. Hugged, laughed, almost cried – this had to lead to people. Slept on it that night, glad to finally rest without clearing away stinging, bloodsucking, burrowing critters hiding in the undergrowth for once. Kid woke up that night to an angry cry. It had been raining that day and clouds blocked even the slightest hint of illumination, sharpening the kid’s hearing. He heard shuffling next to him and stood blindly. A rare shaft of moonlight pierced the canopy and illuminated his companion swatting something off his arms and stumbling backwards over a tree root into the thick ferns with a moan. The moan turned to sharp cries and he rose covered in writhing darkness, the shadows seemed to converge on him and quickly choked off his rising screams, covered his pleading eyes. Numbly stumbling backwards the kid felt a sting and brushed off an ant. He stood for a moment watching the spiny seething mass surge over the boy, and started to run in the opposite direction.
Kid made it to the river at a dead run and leapt clear for the other side. Almost made it, too. Felt something slither as he scrambled frantically onto the river bank. Alone, now.
Stumbles though the underbrush for days, no idea how long. No sleep, just forges ahead keeping that silent sinuous river to his side, every night following scattershot moonlight through to what dim light of dawn filters through the wall of grey cloaking the canopy.
The river twists and coils like an impaled serpent. The kid follows its curves and switchbacks blindly, somehow his body seeming to survive longer with his mind absent.
Shadows cover his pathway and everything around him from morning to dusk. Glistening thorns tear at numb skin, vines trip and tangle, the very earth seems to decay at his step and collapse down to the oily black water's edge again and again.
And the river goes on.
But he’s not about to be so lucky and he knows it. Besides, lying there in the jungle all would happen is the cutter ants would get to him, and then he’d really be sorry.
So he picks himself up and looks up the slippery bank he just fell off. Scoops up a bag full of freshly picked teeth, and scrutinizes the river. He shrugs – a small, defeated gesture – and plods on over to wash off the worst of the muck caked to him from sliding belly first into this mess. Kid sharpens up at the water’s edge despite himself, looks around carefully for signs of anything in those murky waters he’s not quite ready to tangle with just yet.
Even at the river’s edge, barely enough sun making it through the thick canopy to see, nevermind make out a reflection against the water. If he could see himself he’d feel even worse. Tall as he is, in his emaciated state he looks cadaverous. The pallid cast of his skin from wandering in the humid gloom of the shadowy jungle doesn’t do much for him either; his thick black hair sticking out wildly in every direction is the only thing that looks remotely alive about him.
He makes it quick – just because he can’t see it, doesn’t mean the river isn’t concealing something nasty for him. And he’s learned about nasty in this jungle, all kinds of it, kinds he never would have dreamed of back home.
With the worst of the muck sloughed off, he grabs a root and pulls himself back onto the riverbank to continue his trek. Doesn’t think about how long it’s been, couldn’t tell you even if he wanted to. Only one thing on his mind now: keep moving, follow the river.
When he first found the river’s edge, he had a plan. Aimed to keep following it until it came to some kind of shore, then follow that to civilization. Even had company, a boy younger than himself, couldn’t have been more than 17. Strong willed though. Told the kid to follow him and started pushing through the dense jungle like he knew where he was going.
Few days in, following that snaking black river, they found a path. Hugged, laughed, almost cried – this had to lead to people. Slept on it that night, glad to finally rest without clearing away stinging, bloodsucking, burrowing critters hiding in the undergrowth for once. Kid woke up that night to an angry cry. It had been raining that day and clouds blocked even the slightest hint of illumination, sharpening the kid’s hearing. He heard shuffling next to him and stood blindly. A rare shaft of moonlight pierced the canopy and illuminated his companion swatting something off his arms and stumbling backwards over a tree root into the thick ferns with a moan. The moan turned to sharp cries and he rose covered in writhing darkness, the shadows seemed to converge on him and quickly choked off his rising screams, covered his pleading eyes. Numbly stumbling backwards the kid felt a sting and brushed off an ant. He stood for a moment watching the spiny seething mass surge over the boy, and started to run in the opposite direction.
Kid made it to the river at a dead run and leapt clear for the other side. Almost made it, too. Felt something slither as he scrambled frantically onto the river bank. Alone, now.
Stumbles though the underbrush for days, no idea how long. No sleep, just forges ahead keeping that silent sinuous river to his side, every night following scattershot moonlight through to what dim light of dawn filters through the wall of grey cloaking the canopy.
The river twists and coils like an impaled serpent. The kid follows its curves and switchbacks blindly, somehow his body seeming to survive longer with his mind absent.
Shadows cover his pathway and everything around him from morning to dusk. Glistening thorns tear at numb skin, vines trip and tangle, the very earth seems to decay at his step and collapse down to the oily black water's edge again and again.
And the river goes on.
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