Original Short Story: Six Dusks, Seven Dawns
Authors Note: There is a companion poem to this short story. Check it out here. Dawn again. It has been six times dusk and dawn seven since I began. The hammock’s hard to get out of. It’s the kind that hangs just taut enough between two trunks or boughs or poles or whatever that it doesn’t slam into the ground. I land on the nearest branch; I spent the night high in a tree breathing cool air. The heat will begin soon. Six dusks and seven dawns and I still haven’t needed a fire. I still haven’t seen a real animal. I’ve eaten nothing with fewer than six legs. That’s fine. Good, really. But not entirely true. I tried to eat a newt I found. Might as well have been an insect with the amount of meat it held. I was so hungry I ate what I could without cooking it. That was four dusks ago. When I thought I would return home. Gotta keep going. I’m not dead yet. The journey is only supposed to last nine days. Six dusks and seven dawns later, I don’t expect ...