The Trip in the Fall: A Short Story


 

The Trip in the Fall

By Alexis Mizell

Entry 1: October 3, 2015

The fall, I always thought, is the perfect time for a hike. At least that is what people say right? It’s been awhile since I tried to be inspirational, but I am trying here! It is for that reason I am sitting here, beneath the bright peppered sky of stars that filter light through the trees of the Blue Ridge Mountains and accompany the moon, bold in the sky, cascading perfectly across this page. I set off this morning on the trek of a lifetime. Writers block. Being that I live in Asheville, I’ve conceded to be one of “those” writers, who prays on the innocence of the wilderness to give me something. Anything. So far what have I found? A hole in my sock with some blisters forming on my freshly pedicured heel and a stomach grumbling with want for the mid-evening snack I usually have on Tuesday night- post Jeopardy. No, no thoughts so far, but I am staying hopeful that the next Harry Potter will pop into my head now that I am free from the restraints of social media. I left my phone at home and I am starting to think it may have been a bad idea rather than the genius plan I concocted this morning while tossing some camping gear I found hidden in a corner of my dirty (but well organized!) garage, a bag of clothes, and a stack of MRE’s I stole from my ex-husbands deployment stash into my equally dirty (but well organized!)Volkswagen Golf.

The girl dropped her IPhone and watched it shatter to a million tiny pieces, she felt, were pieces of her heart… nope, too bland.

I will hike farther tomorrow and I am promising myself on this paper, right now, that I will not turn back on this hike until I- A. Run out of food. Or B. Get inspired to write a semi-interesting storyline.

Entry 2: October 4, 2015

I’m turning around. My body itches, I’m petrified of running out of toilet paper, and I cannot do another night of waking up to the sound of wolves, bears, or whatever is out here. I am not cut out for this, I know that, I was born in Manhattan for God sakes! The only reason I am writing at this very moment is for sanity. I have been walking in circles since I woke up this morning while trying to figure out which way would take me back to the makeshift parking spot I cultivated on the side of this mountain range. News flash: my watch reads 1400- stupid military time.

In my spontaneity and typical fashion, I did no research. I jumped in the car and drove to the most remote mountain range within 30 miles, parked, and walked. How far have I walked? I just want to be home, sulking in a bubble bath while waiting for a miracle that will send some well thought out novel flying from my hand to a paper. The rock I am sitting on is so…gross.

Everything is gross; don’t get me wrong it’s all desolate and untouched and quiet, but it’s too quiet, too desolate, and too untouched for me. Nature is unresponsive. It’s alive, but dead. It’s a bore and me? I like a little spice.

I’ve got an idea! I will start walking and mark down anything that looks familiar, because there is absolutely no way that my 5’3 frame has trudge me more than a few miles from my hatchback chariot.

-1513: Really big pine tree- I think I ate lunch here yesterday.

-1555: Another wet rock…same one I was on earlier? Lame.

-1643: Weird looking squirrel thing ran past and made me trip; does he know where my car is?

This whole writing and remembering thing isn’t working. It’s late; 2052 to be exact.

Still haven’t found my car yet and I am getting nervous. Lucky for me I smelled smoke an hour ago and followed the scent. There is a house a bit down from the mountain, but there is an issue. Of course the only way down is a straight rocky decline that looks to me like a death trap. My plan is to use a big stick I found to steady myself on the way and go very, very slow.

I swear, nature is the worst. Let’s tear it down already to make room for a new mall or a 5-star hotel or something. Put it all out of its misery. See, I kick this rock and it does nothing. I pick this flower and it just dies. Nature doesn’t put up a fight. Nature is weak and I am human. I am better than all of this.

Alright, no more stalling, I’m going for it.

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The remains of 2012 New York Times bestselling author Jessica Cain were found in Asheville today, October 7th by the local Wilson couple. Reports and evidence of a journal claim Cain was attempting a hike alone while writing the sequel to her award winning self-help book Get Better, Naturally, which was due to be released in the summer of 2013. Many close to the deceased say that she had fallen on tough times since her last book, from strife with family to a pending divorce from her husband and retired Marine, which caused her to derail from her writing career. The coroner is labeling her death an accident, with many injuries consisting of those inflicted by a fall from some height, and although found on the Wilson’s sandy cattle pen, the fall resulted in instant death. One of the most recognized quotes from Cain’s book reflects upon the impact nature can have on life and within the written self-reflection, which has often been speculated by critics to be false, Cain claimed the saving grace to her life was nature reading, “Nature is either life’s happiest playground, or it’s saddest sandbox.”

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