On 2005-12-17 21:49:00, dragonfly wrote:
This is when I realized that it was only a matter of time before a hunter of some sort found my clothes and began to curse the fucker that littered his pristine hunting ground.
...
I got everything but a pair of pants, a pair of socks, a shirt and my old workboots.
Oh no, darlin! They ain't half as callous as you might think. Most are just boys, some grown, who lived the living dream of being a volunteer fireman, and some of them still do. More than likely, those little pieces and parts will not be found. But if they have been, in close proximity to one another, there's a whole other saga going on right about now, one about a guy who met an untimely and violent end during hunting season out in the woods somewhere. Least, that's what the hunters I know would make of it.
My hands turned red and numb by the time I wrung out the shirts and underwear. I stuffed the coat, jacket and the rest of the pants and shirts into my duffel, soaking wet. Now I enacted the allegory of carrying my old dead self. Saving myself from the depths of my watery shadows. The duffel now contained my exact weight in wet clothes. I was so relieved to have cleaned up my mess and to be heading back to my friends house, his washer and dryer, hot tea, ganja. We hiked back, cold river water flowing down my back, a squishy cold corpse in the duffel on my shoulder, bleeding December river water down my back. "
Ya' got the jacket from Napal, though, right? That would be nigh unto priceless in these parts.
Always try to do things in chronological order; it's less confusing that way.
--Unknown
