Chris in the Woods

Chris went to bed sexually frustrated. When he awoke in the morning, he wasn't. Good dreams, one could suppose.

More likely, he was used to it, it had been ten years since he felt human contact. In a sense it was by choice, since he decided to live in the middle of nowhere. He even chose to live in the middle of nowhere alone. He simply regretted the decision very much.

Chris was a large man, in every sense of the word. He had a large brain, a large torso, and a large personality. His large long beard was nothing new to him. He'd had it since he could grow it. The only thing that would have taken some getting used to was the fact that it had some grey in it now. Luckily, he didn't own a mirror, and his big bushy beard wasn't so long that he could see it when he squished his chin down to his chest.

Living in the woods had been a marvellous idea, when he lived in the city. Chris had been working for a law firm as a paralegal, but, not an actual paralegal. So he did the job that a paralegal does but without any of the training or the higher pay. There's a term for it; secretary. He was a secretary.

Working as a secretary at a law firm wasn't fulfilling in anyway for him, nor was his tiny apartment, and nor was paying for prostitutes once a month(he would have gotten more, but he couldn't afford this once a month habit as it was. Surprisingly, prostitutes have become very expensive).

When people have unfulfilled lives, and spend most of their time feeling lonely. They dream about how their lives could be better. The thing that makes people truly unique from one another, is that when they are unfulfilled (which is more common that it should be), they imagine so many different things that would make their lives better.

For some people they imagine; being famous, as an actor, or a singer. For some people they imagine; having millions of dollars and nice clothes. Some imagine having power, others imagine a house and a couple of cars; that match the family that they can support with ease and no financial strain. Others imagine themselves as super writers that will make a modest living out of spewing words.

Chris wanted none of these things. Chris hated society and wanted to give up on it. He wanted to return to a life much less common that it used to be. Something he thought to be very common about four or five hundred years ago. He wanted to be a hermit.

There are a few problems with becoming a hermit in the twenty first century. Mostly, society doesn't ever want you to be one. It's expensive to buy property and it's expensive to build even a cabin up to code. And it's hard to find land that isn't already being used for something.

Meanwhile, Chris presumed that three or four hundred years ago, it was easier to just walk into a forest, cut down some trees, build a cabin, do some landscaping to be able to make a garden. Live a life.

That's actually exactly what he ended up doing, however, his constant complaint to himself about being a hermit in the twenty first century, was not that he couldn't be a hermit, but where he had to be a hermit. North. Not a little north; very north. The last of the forest before the tundra, and not the bottom half of that forest, more like the top quarter.

It was the only way that he knew he could be sure that no one would find him and tell him not to build his cabin.

So ten years ago, Chris set off into the wilderness of Northern Saskatchewan. And he was never seen or heard from again.

The first year, he almost died. He almost died getting lost in the forest that was so thick, he couldn't even think about where to build his cabin. He spend that winter using up all of his supplies for food and water. Supplies that he thought would last him at least five to six years. He spent the winter in an old beaver dam, for a stream that was no longer there.

The second year, he was able to chop down some trees and make a tiny one room cabin for himself, and he was able to make a tiny garden. Which got him through the winter, but barely.

The third year he almost died of loneliness. It had been over six hundred days since he had heard another human's voice. He also felt that he could not masturbate anymore, as he always felt that his hands were too dirty. In this third year, it's safe to say, he went a little mad.

The fourth, fifth and sixth years were the best for him. He was completely crazy, but he worked hard all spring, summer and fall to survive the winter. He started to see past loves of his each day, and he would talk to them and they would tell him that they were proud of him, and he should be proud of himself as well. And he was.

The seventh, eight and ninth years. Were the worst for him. His hallucinations turned horrible to him, they would tease him sexually almost every day, and the animals of the forest had broken through his defences and ate up most of his garden. He also was attacked by a bear in the middle of the night once in the summer. It had scratched his large torso and every day since, when he woke up in the morning. The scar would remind him that it was there by screaming out to him with pain.

In the tenth year Chris, in the middle of the summer. Chris went to bed very sexually frustrated and woke up feeling fine. Good dreams one could suppose. First good dream in a long time. He wasn't sure if he had really woken up at all.