"You'll be free." They said. "Empowered."
Lies. All lies. It's hot, dusty, I haven't taken a proper shower in days. My legs are hot noodles of pain, my thighs swollen three sizes too big and instead of self-assurance I have gained existential crisis. Divorce should be the lowest point of life. Or infertility, rehab at thirty-two or the time a flock of bird's poo, not once, but multiple times in your hair during your first kiss. But no! This moment, when I am bare-foot, pants ripped bad enough to know my ass is hanging out and I am hundreds of miles away from any source of humanity--this is worse.
I take a hesitant step forward aware I am in a minefield of spikey needles and hidden pinecones. I sigh. The trail I was following is still nowhere to be found.
Hiking should provide peace. It fills the body with endorphins until you say, "I've conquered this motherf'ing mountain and I can climb whatever hill of bullshit you throw at me now life."
And to be fair that did happen. I reached the peak of the mountain/hill (but for my own gratuity it is a motherf'ing mountain) and I gained an oh so brief but exhilarating moment of clarity which I commemorated with the everlasting selfie. Who would believe my journey without photographic evidence? Plus, I had planned for the moment. I stripped from my hiking clothes, relishing in the suns warmth before donning a black ensemble. Hair perfect, body slimmed--I lit a flare stick, held onto a metal safety post and BAM! The perfect selfie.
I even had a thigh gap from which sunshine shone through like freaking rays of angels. It. Was. Perfect. I looked like I was flying in the sky. I looked like a hippie bad-ass.
But that was before IT happened. Before everything came crashing down, myself included, so fast every fat cell in my body rippled.
A pine needle pricked the bottom of my foot, ripping me from my reverie and I hopped around shouting to the forest gods, "When does the misery end?"
The bushes to my left rustled. I froze, my heart hammering. Not again, not again, not again! I waited, scanning for any sign of a snout or horns or devilish beady eyes. The rustling stopped and I took a deep sigh of relief. I couldn't handle another flight for my life. One is humiliating enough. Two is when the angels have turned their back.
My ears are still ringing from the piercing squeal of the pursuer during my mad dash for salvation only an hour ago. At least I think it?s been an hour?time no longer exists in the wild. Damn pigs. Who knew they could so mean? You see the movie Babe and you think, Awwwww! I want a baby piggy. But then an overgrown, hairy, monster pig races at you, nearly knocking you off a cliff and you have a new life understanding.
Could anything be more humiliating then being mauled by a pig? A PIG! Maybe it's punishment for eating all those schnitzel dinners. Do I regret eating the pork--no, but now I will be more thankful for its yumminess.
After another ten minutes I know I am lost. The trail is gone. Without it I can't find my supplies, my shoes, food--ANYTHING! It is official. I am going to die here. The most I can expect is to be found in a week emaciated and mentally unstable. Tears sting my eyes. I never liked hiking. Nature always tried to kill me. First by causing anaphylactic shock when a bee stung me on my wedding day. Secondly when bats dive-bombed me from a pine tree in front of my in-laws. My skirt had flipped up exposing my nethers and I could never meet their eyes again.
I let loose a devastated sob. Why me?
Wiping my eyes, I notice a figure in front of me. Watching me. I freeze. It couldn't be! But it is! The same ravenous, territorial son of a bitch pig from before has hunted me down. It must have followed my scent of despair and mid-life crisis.
With a snort and growl it launched at me. I let loose a half sob-half earth shattering wail and run like hell. It didn't take long for me to trip and slam to the ground. I screamed at the sound of impending doom advancing my exposed behind. Frantic, I grabbed the nearest stick, turning and thrusting it forward.
I screamed again as blood sprayed across my face, blinding my eyes. I am dying! I knew it was happening but...but...where are the flashes of my life? Could I not be allowed a fraction of comfort while a boar shredded my body?
The squealing died down. And despite the fact I knew I was drenched in blood I didn't feel any pain.
Peeking open an eye sealed shut by salty tears my whole body shuddered at the sight in front of me. On the end of the stick, skewered through the throat was the wild boar, its eyes still lucid.
I scrambled away and dry heaved into a bush. My body was shaking when I looked back at the boar, mortified and curious of the grotesque scene.
I had done it! I killed the pig. That son of a bitch would never chase a helpless divorcee or middle-aged selfie enthusiast again. Finally, I was the master of nature.
"Hell, yeah!" I threw my fist in the air and leapt to my feet. I pointed at the beast, its gaze still on me. "As soon as I get back I'm having bacon, baby!"
It kicked a cloven hoof and I screamed, falling through a stretch of bushes and onto my back pack. My clothes, shoes, food, everything! I'm not going to die. I am a survivor. Not a hopeless woman, but a survivor. I could have wept if I wasn't so dehydrated.
Topic: Grasping the WILD self-edit (Read 1459 times)