Authors note: This piece of writing is an extended version of my emulation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: Hounds of Baskerville (pg.84). Hope you enjoy.
-Matt
Day 2000
An icy afternoon, on the heart of the tundra, stand a man in all black with nothing but a lighter and a frozen pocket knife in his pockets. Trees turned into little kids hiding under the blanket of the snow as winter hit the frozen tundra. Slowly, one leg forward while the other stayed balanced on top of what lied beneath the snow, and the man face full of ice kept pushing through. It’s dusk the sun has gone to bed, but the man seeks no intention to stop, not until the last bit of light died on the horizon. The sun fell asleep, while the moon awoke to burst a silver light, the man lay still under the night sky, looking up at the stars, making shapes and constellations with his finger, until he heard a noise far in the distance, a noise he knew all too well, the noise that the arctic wolves were starting to awaken.
Day 2001
Sunlight burst into the back of his eyes as he awoke from his deep sleep. He picked up some wood and took his knife and started to widdle down the wood to make a walking stick. He moved his legs with great pain like ice formed in the veins of his body. He cracked his knuckles, neck, ankles, and back and continued on with his journey. Everything was white from horizon to horizon nothing was the colour green. The only colour he could see was the yellow sun, the only source of warmth as he walked for miles upon miles along the arctic tundra. It begins to darken, the day has almost come to an end and along the edge of his hand, he feels nothing, a frozen piece of emptiness build inside. There in the distance is a tree with dried grass underneath, the man tries to run but with every step, the faster times passes, as he reaches the tree he lights the grass on fire and started to warm up. The moon lay awake in the midnight sky making friends with all the stars surrounding it, the wolves now come out to play.
Day 2002
The sun stands tall as the man lay in the tree keeping his hands warm, he sets up for another long night of survival. With his pocket knife, he cuts young trees to create a campfire, and with the flexible branches a snare trap. Prints in the snow suggest that there were animals quiet recently walking along the lonely path, he places the trap down and leaves with no trace but his footsteps. On and on he waits until he see’s the sunset on the day. He walks over to his trap to find a rabbit. The fire burning high he cooks his meal on and when done strips the meat and begins to dine the outdoors way. Everything goes quiet the moon not as bright as others, but will still do as a nightlight. His eyes shut slowly and he starts to dream of the place he wants to be. Slowly a wood cabin comes into view with lights on inside and smoke coming out of the chimney. A word starts to come into his sight it spells ‘Sh…) he wakes up to a bright light, but not the sun. Lights appear in the sky, flowing through the night sky like a bunch of waves crashing the shore of a beach, a spike of the light forms an arrow pointing him in the direction straight ahead of him. A noise in the near distance, the wolves can smell the frozen blood of the rabbit he killed earlier. With all his might he rose from the ground and started following the lights in the sky.
11:59pm Day 2002
Tired of walking for 40 min he sat down at a base of a tree looking up to see a sign, but there wasn’t any light except the moons silver light. Howls to his left and right he started to think that his time was up.
12:00am Day 2003
With his eyes about to shut a speck of light hit his face, warming his cheek. His eyes slowly open to see the light straight ahead of him. Rising up out of the snow he made his way toward the light. Trying to see what was in front of him, the first thing he saw was a sign that read Shane. Shane was his name, this was his home. Home under the night sky.