(Well, here's the first one. I wrote it in English class, and it isn't great, but I hope it's good enough.)
The leaves softly crunched against Jordan’s bare feet. It could have been more noise, had he decided to leave his shoes on, but it got in his way nonetheless. He tightened his grip on his wooden bow and whirled around. A sound had come from behind him. It was not a loud sound, though it was definitely there. Some creature was rustling in the brown, crisp leaves behind him.
He slowly, carefully pulled an arrow out of his bag. There came the noise again, from his left. Something small poked out from a bush—the bushy gray tail of a squirrel. Without a further thought, Jordan notched and loosed his arrow. The animal’s scampering ceased. Satisfied, he walked towards his kill and retrieved it. It was not as if he could have missed the shot. He was an expert.
Jordan hurried back to his camp, using the trail markers he had left behind over the years to guide himself. All those years of living only for the purpose of survival. After the fire eight years before, he had grabbed a few belongings and run behind his house into the dense Canadian woods. He was so deep inside them now that he did not know his way out. It was safe to say, Jordan decided, that he would probably take years more to return to anywhere inhabited.
Thoughts swirling in his mind, he entered his hideout. The cigarette lighter that he stored inside the small, dank cave barely worked anymore. It was the last one from the twelve or so that he had brought. He made a mental note to experiment with other ways to start campfires.
The squirrel cooked quickly. Jordan sat, silent, chewing on the small bit of meat on the bone. He looked outside of his residence and saw the sun beginning to set, the horizon painted in vivid oranges, pinks, and purples. He did not think it was that late. Did he really spend so much more time eating than he usually did?
Shaking, he set the last few bites of his meal down on an old tee shirt and began to get to work. He put out the fire, gathered his lighter, and stored all of his gear in his small knapsack, which was barely large enough to hold his school books all those years ago. Briefly, he paused, running his greasy fingers through his tangled caramel hair. Why did he bother going through all this effort? It was not like they could defeat him if he ever ran into them. And they were his biggest competitor for survival in these woods.
A noise outside of the cave startled him out of his thoughts. If he didn’t work quickly, he could come face-to-face with them. That was not his preferred course of action. He walked outside to the entrance of the cave and set himself to his task.
Every night at sunset, Jordan would block the cave’s entrance with a large, bulky log to keep them out. He had about ten minutes less than usual to do it this time, because of his previous dawdling. Those were ten precious minutes lost. Grunting, he tried to push the log using a different, less time-consuming method, with no luck. The log tipped and rolled in the other direction, down a hill twenty feet. There was no way Jordan would be able to get it before they came. He would have to run.
He darted about the cave, gathering up his materials in a bundle. It was obvious that he did not have much time. His tattered sleeping bag proved to be a challenge to stuff into the small backpack. With a sigh, he gave up and tied it to his waist.
As soon as he heard the sound, Jordan knew that they had come. He had to leave everything he had not grabbed and sprint for his life.
That sound was a terrifying, ear-splitting howl, followed by a chorus of yelps and growls. His sensitive ears picked up the sound of pounding paws, no more than two hundred yards away. It could be more than twenty of them. Jordan put his horrified thoughts aside and began running in the direction away from the pack, his hand tightly gripping his bow.
Jordan’s breaths were becoming more rapid. His throat burned. But he pushed on. There was no way he would lose his life to these savage beasts. The forest around him was dark, limiting his vision, causing him to nearly crash into several trees. He could smell the pack behind him, and all around him, their foul breath wafting through the woods from every direction.
That was when Jordan stopped and cautiously notched an arrow. Spinning slowly in circles, he assessed his situation. Gleaming evil eyes glared at him from everywhere. The pack was closing in on him. He began to panic as the snarls grew closer.
Although he was nervous, Jordan was reassured. There were many times when he had shot wolves and killed them. He was strong. He was strong enough to defeat thirty wolves. No, forty. They encircled him and were closing in. Jordan knew he would have to fight his way out or die trying.
When they were ten feet away, the pack ceased moving. Their eyes were either focused on him or one wolf, who stood larger than the rest, appearing to be the leader. It seemed to bark orders at the others while keeping its gaze steady on Jordan. Drool dripped out of its mouth, over its sharp, glistening fangs. Jordan stared straight at it with a determined expression. There was only one thing left to do.
It appeared that the wolf had the same thought. As soon as Jordan shot his arrow at it, the beast barked and jumped, dodging the arrow. All of the wolves echoed the leader’s call and charged at Jordan. He barely had time to shoot an arrow by the time they were on him.
Fortunately, that one arrow hit a target in the head, extracting a loud yelp from one wolf. It fell back and landed in the way of several others and slowed them down. But that was only a few out of many. Jordan instinctively turned and jabbed his bow behind him, hitting another predator in the eye. This attack showed itself to be more useful than shooting, as he could not exactly use a bow at such a close range.
And so he continued to battle for what felt like hours but was actually twenty minutes. The wolves’ numbers dropped down to twenty, to ten, to five. Although he suffered a few scratches, Jordan still attacked with all his might. A jab here, a shot there, and more bloody, furry bodies littered the ground.
The growling and yelping fell to a minimum. Jordan paused and heaved a few breaths. With a glance around, he saw that only the alpha wolf remained. Its silver fur shone in the moonlight, blood spattering its otherwise perfect coat. It was a beautiful sight. Beautiful, but deadly and preparing to leap straight at him.
Jordan reached back and grabbed his final arrow. As he put it into its place on the bowstring, a smirk crossed his face. He knew that he was unbeatable. Eight years in the forest, since he had come at age ten, had prepared him for this exact moment. And he knew he would succeed.
The wolf pawed at the ground and growled. It seemed to be waiting for Jordan to launch his attack. The boy flashed a cocky grin at his competitor, readying the final arrow expertly. At the same time that the wolf lunged at him, he let go of the bowstring with a confident laugh.
His arrow flew ten feet to the left of the leaping animal.
