When I was little, I'd carverandom words into the underside of the desk. I forgot they were there untilrecently. Reading it can be haunting. The jumbl...d scribbles of my childhood,pressed into the grains. I try not to think about it, or at least not look atit. I always wrote. Nobodyknew what exactly what I was writing about. I didn't let them know, I didn'twant them to know. I wrote for me. But, it would have been nice to showsomebody, If I thought they'd take it the way I intended it to be. He felt lucky he had bought a tent and a sleeping bag in the previous town. His empty stomach began to whine again, he thought. He hastened his pace.Then suddenly, he heard a cry. He stopped for a while. He had lived in nature for his whole life, and he could swear that was not natural. It was a woman's cry. The forest fell silent, but his instinct quickly told him that the sound came from his left. He rushed into the thickness of the trees. After a few quick paces, he scanned the forest around. More

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