A Fearsome Predicament

I asked my tour guide the relative safety of my upcoming trek, which I had decided many months ago I would be taking unaccompanied. He responded with an evil little grin "A man of such esteem need not ask about the welfare of his soul, for the plot is already paid for. Don’t fear death, master Powell, fear immortality in the land of the dead." He left on a train of horses, and I was

A Fearsome Predicament (3)

left alone, with the sights and sounds, and overpowering smells of this June morning in the heart of the forest. A chill ran through my spine as I remembered the remarks of my guide. Though putting them aside proved necessary not only for my voyage to begin, but my sanity to remain. Once inside, and through the entrance, I gorged upon the sights of the walls. Not of traditional beauty, no, but of a different kind, the likes of which even the most ignorant of men could look at with joy. It’s of no wonder I imposed myself upon this land for good. No, that’s not quite right, though the beauty of the land intrigued and invigorated me, my choice for such an unabbreviated stay was in fact no choice of mine. I had said, congratulate me, for I have succeeded, I have found the riches of the legendary caves, and I now am currently staring up at the dark, damp, cavernous walls of the daunting labyrinth. But please, hold your praise for a more receptive man, for I am entombed inside of the treacherous caves of Buddahinta! Do not inquire where upon I have gotten myself into such a quite literal "tight spot", for a lengthy explanation written by my scrapped up hands would be confused and unavoidably incomplete (bad writing techniques if there ever were). The parch ness of my own lips is actually quite comical, for there is an immense non-shortage of fresh, cool water. The reason, therefore, for the condition of these odd pigmented crescents upon my face is a result of the acquired skill necessary to keep my suffering to a minimum; the skill of dying. You see, the Egyptians were buried with many "important" things thought to be

needed in the afterlife. But, me thinks never was a King buried with food, the most basic of life’s necessities. Well, going by this barometer, I must have some royal blood of Tut pulsing through my veins, as I have become disjointed from any kind of nurturing food in what is to eventually become my tomb. I’m fortunate enough to have been able to retain a bountiful amount of light, fuel, and of course my log and some pencils, all of which have become my most dearest companions. The ironic part, however, of the life giving commodity of food is that it is just that; a commodity. The human body, as it is well documented, may live weeks or perhaps even months without food of any kind, so as long as air and water is accessible. So you see, I will feel hungry after eating not for a day, yet the feeling will get worse, without causing death, for many, many days. So, to remedy the slow process, I have resigned to give the reaper a helping hand; I will give into the fiery grip of death, and force my self upon it through the self-depreciating act of dying of thirst. My plan, however, hasn’t yet worked as seen in the wall, which now shows the marks of thirteen days, helped collected by my watch piece.