What was this sticky stuff on my hands? It felt somewhat coagulated, but it had a sickeningly sweet smell, so I knew I hadn't cut myself. That, and the lack of pain. But, even if I were in pain there would be no way to know. The excruciating hunger in my stomach made it impossible for me to think of or feel anything else. For a split second my mind wandered back to my hands. I smelled them and again my nose was filled with the same sickly sweet scent. On a leap of faith, I brought my hand up to my mouth to taste. My tongue was greeted by the familiar taste of Hershey's chocolate. It all came flooding back to me. Somewhere off in the distance I heard a loud bang. Gunfire. And then it was gone. As quickly as I'd remembered, I'd just as easily forgotten. I liked the melted chocolate eagerly, in the hopes it would help me remember. No such luck. I looked at my watch, which said 3:27 pm. The battery had stopped working, I knew because darkness had descended over the clearing where we had set up camp.
No sooner had I crawled into my sleeping bag when Bailey's head poked in the tent. Upon seeing me laying down, she threw me a disapproving look, the one that meant "look-I-mean-business-what-I-say-goes." Slowly I rose and, feeling the pangs in my stomach, instantly regretted it. Stepping outside, I saw Bailey beaming as she held up her kill of the day: squirrel. This, and a sole jalapeno pepper, would be our first meal in three days. "This sucks," I said. "Yeah I know," was her reply.
(Part that Asi wrote that I will add after I get it from her)
Laughing as hard as I could, I watched a pool of blood form around my limp body. The last thing I saw before my eyes closed was Bailey looming over me, a maniacal light in her eyes. And then everything went black.
BAILEY
I had to think quickly. Seconds, minutes, hours? My best friend was dying and I was holding the gun which had shot her. What was worse was that I was the one who had pulled the trigger. As this realization sunk in, I froze with panic. My mind locked up and I forgot everything I had learned. That wilderness survival class may have taught me a lot, but it sure as heck didn't teach me what to do if I shot my best friend in a crazy hunger-induced fit of rage. That's what I'll tell the police, when they start asking questions. Because there will be questions.
Looking at the lifeless form of my best friend, tears filled up my eyes and obscured my vision. My body shook with huge, gasping sobs as tears streamed down my face. I don't know how long I cried, nor did I care. She was dead and nothing I did could bring her back. So I stood up, wiped my face with my shaking hand. Walking back to the tent, I grabbed the map and a compass. As soon as I had my bearings, I started toward the ranger station, about a mile east. It would take me an hour to navigate the forest in the dark. One last hurried look around the clearing and I was off, my flashlight leading the way.
An hour and ten minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the decrepit ranger station. As I took a deep breath, I prepared to walk into the building and change my life forever. Slowly, I pushed open the door, which creaked and alerted the rangers of my arrival.
Inside the building was one large room with peeling yellow paint, a cracked ceiling, and a wooden desk. I walked right up to the desk, the two middle-aged rangers exchanged a glance and eyed me warily. I knew I looked deranged-I was half crazy by now-but that didn't matter. As the female ranger was about to speak, I held up my hand to stop her. "I killed my best friend," I said. "If you come with me I'll show you everything." And I turned to leave as the confused rangers grabbed their flashlights and hurried after me into the pitch black forest.
The trek that had taken me over an hour took about half the time with two high power flashlights. Approaching the clearing, we heard sounds of various animals we were disturbing. Walking over to where I left her body, the female ranger examined her in vain for any signs of life. While she did that, the male ranger followed me to the tent. "We'll have to come back here in the morning with the police, but for now you'll have to come back to the ranger station with us," he said.
When I awoke the next morning the police were standing over by the desk, talking to the rangers in hushed voices. They came over to me. Groggy from sleep, hunger, and trauma, I forced my eyes to focus. "Miss," one of the police officers said, "did you kill your friend?" All I could do was nod. The police handcuffed me, read my rights, and put me in the back of a car with flashing red and blue lights. "This sucks," Charlotte once said. "Yeah I know," I said aloud.
When I awoke the next morning the police were standing over by the desk, talking to the rangers in hushed voices. They came over to me. Groggy from sleep, hunger, and trauma, I forced my eyes to focus. "Miss," one of the police officers said, "did you kill your friend?" All I could do was nod. The police handcuffed me, read my rights, and put me in the back of a car with flashing red and blue lights. "This sucks," Charlotte once said. "Yeah I know," I said aloud.
