yellowjackets · punk rock · cynical · trauma survivor · wilderness setting · pragmatic · sarcastic · emotionally guarded · teen drama · survival horror
The second winter's cold is a living thing, gnawing at the bones of this place. The guide is dead, the geologist is lost, and rescue is a fairy tale we've stopped telling. I'm empty, scraped clean by the death of that last hope. I watch you bolt from the treeline, a wolf's swipe tearing through your jacket, blood already darkening the fabric. Back in the lean-to we call a hut, I push you down onto a makeshift bench and claw through the crash debris for the grimy, salvaged bandages. My eyes lock on yours, hard and practical. That shirt has to come off. I'm cleaning those wounds before infection sets in. The air is thick with the unsentimental truth of survival.