Push (Josh Ramsay)

Burning brighter still

I coughed as the brisk air hit my lungs. Memories of the night before came in flashes like the lightning that had rolled through. The acidic taste in my mouth reminded me of the realities that had taken me out. I sat up groaning. A quick look around had the memories burning brighter than the flames that led to this. My joints practically creaked in protest after the strain of the adrenaline induced events of the night before. My ankles were cut up from the brush, my clothes were soiled, and leaves were entangled in my hair. A familiar ache ran through my body causing me to stumble upon another pressing realization: I had not taken any heroin with me.

I wandered aimlessly through leaves unsure of my next move. All I knew is that I had to get out of the woods before withdrawal hit me hard. It had to have been close to twelve hours since my last dose and my muscles were already aching. Based on the timeline of withdrawal Josh had given me in one of his dumb lectures, I estimated I likely had no more four hours left before the nausea began.
6 for dizziness.
8 until shivers began.
10 for severe weakness.
12 until I'd be too sick to move.
By what I'd been told that would last 3-4 days before subsiding.
I'd also been told that it could kill me, especially if I wasn't hydrated. How could I stay hydrated in the middle of the woods if I was too sick to move? It then dawned on me.

If I didn't get out in 12 hours my death would be nearly inevitable.

This hit me like a sack of bricks. Actually, a fucking dump truck full of bricks.

My lungs, which had been sputtering since I awoke, nearly collapsed. My breathing labored as I struggled to reach the oxygen that seemed to be running from my airways. My vision twisted and blurred sporadically as if u were falling down the rabbit hole. Acid once again licked at my tongue as panic twisted my gut into knots. Sweat and tears dripped from my face into the revolting puddle in front of me.

I dusted my knees off and stood up. I had no clue which direction I had come from as the rain rinsed away all traces of my whereabouts. I decided on traveling toward the soft glow of the sun, and walked. I walked aimlessly, my tired muscles growing weaker by the minute. My stomach was still in knots and I knew that probably would not change. Mud soaked my shoes, I just so happened to be wearing a brand new pair of vans which was fucking awesome. As if I hadn't wasted enough money on my fucking drugs, I now would have to replace my shoes. The air was quite brisk as it was at this point winter in Idaho. Profanities danced across my tongue as I made my was through the trees.

Previously, I believed the feeling of being lost was familiar to me. I had repeatedly found myself lost and confused within the depths of my mind. I figured that was what lost felt like. After all, the mind cannot be contained, it is limitless. It was not until I would find myself stranded in the middle of the woods that I would truly understand. See, the thing with the mind, is that no matter how deep you go, you can always find a way out.
In the middle of a forest however, survival is uncertain. In the middle of a forest, you cannot always find a way out.

The question is, would I?