It was a cold and terrifying wind that darted past our window as I knew and held on to the anxious wait for wild that was pulling at my feet to just go outside already. The morning awaited something adventurous. Something I had planned for some time now. Ever since I was a young boy I’ve always had a great love for the outdoors and felt as if it spoke to me. I can be “stubborn” as everyone tells me, but love being alone and when I’m in a mood, nature is where I go. Growing up my parents always had a love for adventure. They would take on bigger and more risky challenges each week. I remember looking up to my father because he was always a hard- working man. He would look down at me and say “Phil, don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not a man. Just go out there to the wild and become the wolf inside ya.”
I never knew what he meant until now. I know if I can survive out there, I can survive anywhere and be that man. I know more than the world thinks I do. Not just about why the leaves change color like they do and
why certain animals hibernate in the winter. I know that courage needs to be fought for and earned. Like a
trophy or a car you’ve saved up for so long with every dollar you’ve worked for on your own. I couldn’t wait to take on the biggest storm comin’. My brother feared the wild like I feared weakness and giving up was not an option. He insisted on following along ‘cause he knew my ole stubborn ass wouldn’t balk.
Especially after watching my parents get mauled by a bear when I was only eight years old. They lived until they couldn’t and wouldn’t stop even the most difficult of adventures. They lived for the wild until the wild took their lives. I’m going to be brave just like my father, Papa Phil. I went to sleep on the floor by the window, in case those damn raccoon tried to break in again. Rifle by my side for protection, even in our
own home. Little shabby cabin in Hellford Hills, not too far from the bluest riverside. I slept like a child on
Christmas Eve, impatiently waiting for the jolly man in a red and white suit. Except my jolly man was the grim wild and brewing storm on the cold mountains of Hellford. Morning broke with freezing temperatures and as it hit my green eyes of emeralds and jungle night, watery tears of wind ran down my face like a runner in a marathon. We had our morning coffee right before we
walked out the door. Black coffee, just like Papa Phil used to scarf down every morning and evening before his overnight hikes. Backpack on and buffalo rifle to my side. One shot right between a bear’s eyes and he’s dead like old hidden grass. I wondered why my father had only brought knives with him on his journey with my mother.. I had the gun I needed to protect my younger brother Cole and I. The storm was already starting as the skies started growing dim and tired. The dark gray sky and haunted winds were already following us
like that of a shadow of a man with guilt and regret. We walked slowly, our husky boots cracking each stick like an impatient kid with a glow stick. It kept getting colder and colder as the skies got darker and darker. This storm was doing its very best to shut down our adventure, but we knew what we were in for before we put those tough and eager hiking faces on. Cole kept mumbling words behind me and as I blocked out the
hard whistling wind in my ears, I could hear him saying with a shake in his voice “ The storm, ah...