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“Why should I always have to be kind?”
No one to bear witness out here in the middle of nowhere. No one to track his lonely devolution into something feral.
Some deep animal intuition spoke to Sam: Something off about that one, something a little wrong in the head.
are you going to die?”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Please. Please. Please.”
evening is slurping up sunlight,
the smell of dead meat travels up from way down deep in its belly,
Someone dark and bitter and troubled. Unapproachable. The kindness stripped away like bark.
Panic rises in his throat, beginning to choke him like an allergic reaction.
And now, this fucking guy.
You don’t want to watch.”
the frequent, irregular staccato of scary noises
When your body is in crisis, time slows. Sam remembers hearing once that this phenomenon actually occurs because the brain takes more snapshots during a crisis, clicking like a camera, gathering information, anything that might be useful, anything to save itself.
She doesn’t know whether the cold will ever leave. It feels permanent.
For an animal it is that simple: survive.
