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Fairy Tale

Installment 8

For the next few days, CubicHoney0146 worked his way into a reliable survival routine. He found, inexplicably, that he felt better when he stretched out in the morning. He did this after watching the sunrise, which wasn't a survival thing in his estimation, but he, inexplicably, found himself doing it nonetheless. Each morning. The thing was, he had never felt anything before the witch doctor installed 'pain sensors' all over him. Now he did.

In truth he harbored an ambivalence toward the whole situation. For CubicHoney0146, the experience of pain and hunger had been an initiation into discomfort, yes, but also depth and even the uncanny.

Now he could see the water and not just see the surface of the pond. Now he could see to the bottom, where the minnows were flitting about. He knew also that he could touch the murk, but he would have to reach out to do so. And also that his arm would get wet. None of these things -- the exertive quality of movement; the wet feeling of water -- were anything to him back then, in the brief time before the witch doctor got to him. Anything at all.

With an acute sense of the real cost of moving, CubicHoney0146 got up and stretched in the morning, next to the small pond over which he watched the sun rise.

Then he made back to camp to get breakfast.

After eating enough fistfulls of red berries and enough purple carrots to get his Hunger Meter at least above half, CubicHoney0146 set out to collect more food. He spent half a day's Time gathering whatever edibles he could locate in the mapped area surrounding his base. He did stash loose tinder as he came across it. In the last fit of daylight until tomorrow, he chose a nearby birch and felled it.

Sitting around the camp-fire, with the forest sounds becoming more ominous the deeper night set in, CubicHoney0146 put together his pickaxe. In his wanderings, he had skirted the edge of a territory full of boulders and strange colorful rock formations. In his satchel, each inventory slot could fit a potential 30 pieces of raw harvested rock. He planned to fill one slot and part of a second, tomorrow afternoon. That was the plan.

Over the next few days he operated like this: collecting food for half a day, collecting resources for half a day, building at night. That second night he assembled his pickaxe. The third he started forming his spear. Knowing it would take a few nights. Hoping he had them to spare.

It was from a fallen branch, twice his height, of a pale sycamore, that he carved the shaft of his spear, using a Swiss army knife he had found next to a pile of resting bones. By the 5th night of his 2nd run, CubicHoney0146 had made his spear. He propped it up against the wall of his lean-to. Something akin to a smile traced its shape over his lips.

He had the feeling of skillfulness, of skill, almost as if he were good at what he was doing. And he was confident he was. And this was a feeling he enjoyed. Unlike the hot abrasive feeling of a swung axe in his hands; unlike the creeping feeling of chill rushing in as the day faded toward evening.

There were, admittedly, causes for concern. His present-day food sources were nearing exhaustion. For one thing. Still he was confident -- another inexplicable feeling -- but confident he felt nonetheless. He could continue to move forward in this game. He could, and he would.

(+ 10 MYTH)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

THIS CONCLUDES THE EIGHTH INSTALLMENT OF FAIRY TALE

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Follow this link if you'd like to start the story from the beginning:

https://steemit.com/hive-169911/@william8wayward/fairy-tale-and-and-and-000

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#fairytale #cubichoney0146 #avatar #myth #horizons

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Thank you so much for taking the time.

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