Autumn

As I marched down the long narrow road one foot after the other, I came up to a large town I spent much longer in than I wanted to. It was larger than I thought, and the regulars began to recognize me here and there. I was walking around after deserting my last campsite when I found an ideal spot for the next. There was a road that exited the city, surrounded by steep ditches and trees on either side. Into the trees was a large flat clearing that was perfect for whatever I needed. Plus, a creek around half an hour walk east was perfect, and you best believe I washed up. I think the reason I spent as much time in this town as I did was because the wilderness was beginning to take its toll on me. I was, to be honest without any human contact for a while, going crazy. It's hard to explain. Small bright lights coming from nowhere, voices in my head, hallucinations around every corner. I needed a break.
At the flat clearing I had another makeshift tent set up, along with a stone fire pit that took a few hours to make. Just a hole cleared and surrounded by large round stones. I stocked up plenty of wood, but my wire saw had gotten dull and just about useless. To add to my problems, that backpack was really starting to put stress on my back. I had to take it off and leave it at camp every time I left to relieve the pain. In addition, it was getting harder and harder to sleep, and the rain was no big help. One of the nights it was so windy and wet, I almost lost a few supplies. Plus, I had to buy new batteries for the flashlight, and my measuring tape that I was using to... well, make measurements, broke. So, shelter would be a bit more difficult afterwards.
Despite all these problems, another reason I took such a big break was because I was getting close to my destination. I was maybe a few more days away by now with my pace. It was also about now I realized that I wasn't sure what I was going to do when at San Francisco. I mean look around, obviously, but all this trouble to get there and... then what? Do I go back? After studying the map for a while, I found an ideal path that can help me avoid most traffic and buildings until San Francisco. I packed up my map and approached my tent, which was once again crafted by the chrome emergency blanket and rope. Up to this point I had survived on a tight schedule. But now it was time to hit the trail again, and I wasn't sure if I was physically strong enough, energized enough or even mentally prepared enough. The past few weeks have been gruesome. I felt like no matter what I did, I would be lost in the wilderness. I felt it was bound to happen eventually that something bad would happen that I couldn't recover from.
This was the first real time I regretted leaving, and for once I missed my dreadful uncle. But I wasn't going to let the lack of self-prep bring me down. I wasn't going to quit easily, not after everything I've endured so far. This planet can break me, but whether broken or not, some tools can still be used, even if not for the same purpose. Some things have to be broken before they can be used, like eggs. I was determined, and I wasn't letting anything stand in my way.
I flipped open my tactical knife and cut out a large chunk of wood from a thick limb, then I piled the wood into a pile and slid out DJ's lighter. It was much more efficient than that flint and striker from before, and in this particular spot this would hopefully be my last time using this small, typical campfire that had kept me warm for several days.
I looked up and stared at the sky as the dreary clouds drew closer, followed by a slight, cold mist. DJ had taught me how to know when rain was coming as well. I reached up and slid on my beanie, tightened my shoelaces, grabbed my walking stick and prepared myself. Rain would be here in about an hour. I carefully planned out my next path and started out of the woods. I scouted ahead for about an hour before returning to the camp, and that's when it started to drizzle. I went ahead and wrote another journal entry before lighting my fire. As I shuffled my bag on my shoulders, I wondered what Gus was doing right about then. Thankfully, the rain wasn't getting any harder, and I'd already had to deal with pounding downpour a couple of times. My fire stayed intact and lit, and I didn't get soaking wet, so there's that.
While I sat in my tent, the rain was starting to clear up after a couple hours and I thought this was the time to head out as the rain slacked up. So, I packed everything up, snuffed the fire, and began to walk toward the street. Remember how I said that the road was surrounded by not only woodland, but steep ditches on either side? Yeah, remember that. I made my way to the ditch and struggled for a bit with the slick wet slope, but eventually made it up to the top. I noticed a car driving closer from down the road, sending water flying in every direction. Not only did I not want to get soaked, but I didn't want to be seen, either. A kid exiting the woods in the middle of nowhere probably looked a little concerning, after all.
So, I ducked down at the bottom of the ditch and waited for the car to pass. I heard the pitter patter of the water, then it soon flew over my head as the car's lights grew bright, then faded into the distance. I didn't come this far just to stop being cautious and start being careless (or so I thought). I stood up and began to scale the slippery ditch once again, now even more wet than before. I had just made it to the top when a rock gave out on me and slipped away. My leg slid forward and flew up into the air, and the weight on my back sent me flying backwards down the long, wet slope.
Now keep in mind this isn't just a normally sized ditch. It was at least maybe nine, nine and a half feet deep. I tumbled down the long slope, and I fell for a good second or two. I felt the bag being ripped from my shoulders as it flew several feet away from me while I rolled backwards.
Finally, I painfully landed with a thud at the bottom of the slope with my back pressed against the ground tightly. I let out a low groan, then laid there in silence. Eventually I managed to gather my thoughts, but the damage was done. I had the wind knocked out of me, and it was a little hard to breathe without wheezing. I tried to lean upward, but I was forced to stop. My side was hurting, and bad. I released all my energy and let my body drop back onto the ground helplessly. Soon the numbness left my head, and I realized I had a splitting headache, plus my side was beginning to grow in pain. I gathered all my courage and leaned my head up to look down. I could see blood seeping through my shirt at my side, and it wasn't until then that the full force of the pain really struck me.
I had this one memory of when I was in my room as a boy, and I had dropped a nail. I accidentally stepped on it but hadn't realized quite yet. I felt no pain until later on when I looked down and saw a hole in my foot. Then all of the sudden it hurt like I'd just been shot. Well, stabbed. That's what I felt like now.
I peeled my jacket away from my arms and back, then it took all my courage to lift the shirt up and examine the wound. There was a small, but deep gash in my body. My head dropped to the ground in pain, and I sighed heavily, taking a second as I drew in great deep breaths.
Eventually I realized I had to do something about the bleeding and scanned the area for my bag. It lay a couple feet away, just out of reach. I tried to tilt myself toward the bag, but that made my side hurt so much worse. I was forced to snap back into place as my bag lay just out of my reach. I felt like I was dying, and I could see the one thing that'd save me, but knew it was impossible to get. I felt hopeless. I felt ready to give up, and my left eye suddenly felt warm. I realized I had another deep cut on my left eyebrow. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as my side. I lay there for several minutes, weak and in suffering as I tried my best not to think about my untimely demise. I wondered what Gus would say if he saw me now. Thinking back on it, he was probably out for the summer by now.
Then I thought of Mom and Dad. How my mom would hold me up high whenever I wanted her to pick me up as a child, or how my dad and I would sneak into the kitchen late at night to eat cookies. Part of me just wanted to sit there and let the pain slowly disperse as I gave up. Part of me just wanted to simply wait for death to pick me up and send my soul on its way to wherever I deserved. I was officially broken, I thought. But another part of me wanted to keep going, no matter what. I wasn't sure if I was trying to prove something to myself, or what this journey was about anymore. But now, after I had gotten so close to everything I've worked for, I was just going to roll over and die? Over a little scratch? A little, deep, uncontrollably bleeding and kill me, spare the pain scratch? No way.
I gathered all the strength I could muster. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the pain as I pushed off the ground with my legs and rolled over onto my side. As I winced in pain, my mind raced and my heart bumped through my chest like a bomb that exploded over and over again, nonstop. I was just barely able to grab my bag and slide it over to me, struggling to unzip it. I dug around inside once I had managed to slide the zipper up and pulled out my ammo box. I pulled it up, which was a lot harder with just one hand, and unbuckled the side. I tipped it over onto its side on the ground and rummaged through my things, sliding everything into the wet grass as I struggled to locate my medical supplies.
Finally, I found the small med kit and fumbled with it trying to get it open. Nothing inside looked helpful, though, as most were band aids or something that only helped something different, less severe. I don't know how to stitch myself with sutures either. Then I got an idea. A painful, awful idea. I slid the pliers from my bag and grabbed DJ's lighter from my pocket. I flipped open the lighter and held the hot flame just up to the tip of the metal pliers. It took a few minutes, but eventually the tip began to glow a low yellow and orange. I dropped the lighter to the ground and held the pliers near my side, terrified.
I tried to be brave and closed my eyes, wincing in pain as I drew the glowing hot pliers closer and closer to my skin, but I just couldn't do it. I wanted to give it a second try and grabbed my jacket, placing the sleeve in my mouth and biting down as tight as I could. I needed to hurry before it cooled off, but inside I was screaming. As I gritted my teeth on my sleeve, I raised the pliers away from my side, giving up. I was just about to think of a different idea when I did something that surprised even me and jabbed the pliers into my gash. I howled in pain as the pliers sizzled against my skin. My vision grew blurry, and before I knew it, the world was spinning, then I had passed out.

I startled myself awake by the sound of my own gasping for air. By now the sky was dark and it was pitch black outside. I was dizzy and couldn't breathe, and I was really, really tired. I wanted to just lean back and sleep. It took a moment before I began to remember what had happened, and I forced myself to look down. My skin was like a burnt piece of toast, and I leaned back onto the ground. I felt hopeless, lonely, desolate. And for the first time in several months, I let myself cry. I cried slowly until I couldn't contain it. I missed my parents, my friend Gus, my old life. What had everything come to?
Eventually I managed to concentrate and control myself. I grabbed my bag and reached inside for anything possible that could help at a time like this. I saw the duct tape and quickly pulled it out. Then I opened the roll up and pulled it under my back, wrapping it all around my stomach until I stopped at the wound. I took a few big soft leaves and placed them on the wound, then wrapped the tape all the way around my body, covering my wound and wrapping my stomach about twice. I hoped it would stop any bleeding if it reoccurred. I then slid my foldable canteen from my bag and unscrewed the cap, then I held it low over my body and poured around the spots that had gotten burned, wincing with every drop. It hurt, but the cold water felt so much better. I pulled the chilly water away from my body and took a large gulp before twisting the cap shut and sticking it back in my bag. I then realized the pliers were still on the ground and began to scrape all my belongings back into my bag, the pliers along with them.
I pulled out my med kit once more and looked through my myriad of items. A plethora of bandages and needles and stitches. I grabbed the sutures along with the small bottle of alcohol and cotton swabs. I gently poured the alcohol onto my burns using the cotton, then realized I was low on alcohol. I had used it a few times to occasionally jump-start a fire. I grabbed the needle and thread and brought it up to my bleeding eyebrow that was beginning to paint my forehead red with my blood. I rubbed the remaining alcohol on my eyebrow and prepared to stab myself. I tightened my grip on the needle and fumbled for a second, then realized I couldn't do anything without a reflection.
I pulled my chrome emergency blanket from my bag and held it up. It was a little blurry, but I made the reflection work, luckily. It hurt every time I poked an extra hole in my head, but eventually I got an amateurish job of stitching up my eyebrow. Painful, unprofessional, amateur, but it worked. It wasn't until I realized how much hair I had to brush out of the way to get to my eyebrow that I realized just how much the past few weeks have changed me. My hair was a mess, and in desperate need of a haircut. Guess I figured out the first thing I'll do at San Francisco.
My anxiety and self-awareness had spiked exponentially. My sense of humor? Crippled. My self-pride? Diminished. Not to mention I was in desperate need to see a familiar face and have occasional human contact. Plus, I was starting to grow a little hair on my face, which I didn't think looked good on a fifteen-year-old like me. Thankfully it wasn't too noticeable. That was the day I realized just how quickly my condition had changed my outcome in life. I never would have guessed how quickly this would change me, and it was still just the beginning.
And so, after gathering all the self-motivation I could muster I figured it was time to stand again. I grabbed my walking stick and jabbed the bottom into the ground as best I could to help with my weight. I took a sharp breath through my gritted teeth and slowly raised my body to lean forward. I finally got sort of comfortable and pulled my knees closer to my chest, where I pushed my feet downward against the ground and pulled up on my stick while bracing myself on the ground with my other arm. It took a few, very painful seconds before I had managed to leave the damp spot that I had spent a couple hours lying on.
I leaned forward in an effort to catch my breath, then I climbed to my feet and stood hunched over in agony. I panted heavily for several long seconds as I reminisced over my small accomplishment. I moved the walking stick farther forward and pushed my foot farther ahead. Slowly, one step after another, I managed to walk. Then I stumbled through the woods alongside the street back to my previous campsite. After several stressful hours of limping along and stumbling across the smallest things I approached my previous campsite and in complete exhaustion, my legs gave out on me, and I flopped to the ground in agony, perching myself where the tent had been.
I fumbled with the buckle of my belt for a minute before managing to get a grip with my bloody fingers. I unbuckled the belt to get the weight of my holster and pellet pistol off my lower side, and suddenly I felt much better. It probably would have gone off when I fell, but i was smart enough to not have it loaded all the time. I slapped them onto the ground in relief and had hoped that a good night's rest would help. I wanted to go to a hospital, badly, but I couldn't risk being sent back to my uncle. Not now, after deserting him and taking my chances without a home. I felt so hopeless, but I lied back, desperate for rest, and waited to drift off...

I wasn't in my best shape with two meals a day, a hole in my face, and a bigger hole in my side, but even while weak I managed to get ready in the morning. I had slept without any protection or fire or anything, but even though the bugs had been tearing me up I was just relieved to have some rest that wasn't in a ditch. I grabbed my soap and shampoo and washed up in the creek about half an hour away from my old camp, which felt great, but was a bit challenging with my wound. I replaced the leaf and tape, brushed my teeth, and figured out what to do next. I decided to head to the nearest gas station and see if I could find something for my pain. So, I checked my map, found the closest gas station, and set off. Part of me wanted to leave my bag and come back later, but I wasn't sure if I was coming back.
I realized the quicker I got to San Francisco, the less of a chance more things would happen to me. At least, that's what I'd hoped. So, I took my heavy bag and limped my way to the nearest gas station. My ankle was hurting, and I figured I must have twisted it on the way down my tumble and fall. Soon I could see a gas station in the distance and took a breather before continuing my walk. Once I had made it to the door, I dropped my bag off on the inside floor and scanned the aisles. The shelves had food and everything else you'd find at a gas station. I thought about grabbing food but decided to just focus on whatever I needed most. I found nothing particularly helpful, though, and was on my way back to the door when I spotted a can of WD-40.
Now back when I lived with my parents, I remember helping my dad with the car and working with the squeaky doors using WD-40. And I remember just how cold WD-40 was. There was a time when my uncle had taken me camping, and I had burned myself goofing around with the fire, and he sprayed the freezing cold WD-40 on my burned finger because of how cold it was. It would numb the burn for a short while. I'm not sure how healthy it was, but I figured it would work and bought a can on the way out the door. I wasted no time, and as soon as I was outside, I went behind the building and sprayed my burns. It felt great, but it didn't last very long. Nevertheless, it was better than nothing.
So, I found my path to San Francisco on the map again and set off. I had considered hitchhiking, but it was no use. Once again, a child my age hitchhiking alone was not only risky in terms of getting caught, but these days extremely dangerous. So, I forced myself to walk. Eventually, I came up to a whole bunch of buildings. I found a street sign that read "something highway." Another street sign read "San Jose, 20 miles. Chicago, 58 miles." I easily figured out my exact location on my map and noticed on my left were some mountains. I could move through San Jose, a city that would help but slow me down, or move through the mountains, which would be quicker but tougher. In San Jose, a big city like that was asking to get me into trouble.
Looking at my map, I figured out I had about fifty-four miles of mountains ahead of me, which was a lot more than San Jose. But my dumb self had hoped it would be quicker, not even considering my food supply or how tough it would be with the terrain. I found a spot where the mountains didn't get too high and turned off the highway into the woods, traveling West towards the mountains. I calculated that all that hiking would match up to about an entire day of walking. But with all the weight on my back, and my weak condition, there was no way I could walk for nearly twenty-four hours. So, I split my plan into a two-day walk, walking for about twelve hours at my speed, and I would make it out of the mountains the day after tomorrow. So, I grabbed my walking stick and prepared myself for the tough time ahead. It was so much worse than I had thought it'd be.