Independent Piece # 6

The bright numbers on the clock read 6:30 AM, but Maxwell didn’t want to waste a minute of his short weekend vacation up in Maine. Maxwell struggled, but successfully pushed himself out of bed and into the shower. He quickly whipped up some eggs, since the cabin lay 25 miles from any sort of necessities or civilization, and packed for his daily quest. This would be the last of his three-day weekend because, unfortunately, Monday was back to the office and the monotonous life that had imprisoned him. However, for now, he was still free, and with his large backpack, hiking boots, and hunting gun he was on his way.

The second Max stepped out the door; he knew there was a troubling day ahead of him. Even though it was incredibly bright as usual, dark clouds lingered towards the west. There was probably only a few hours left of sunshine left before the rain poured in, but Maxwell ignored the eventual disaster and jumped on the all-terrain-vehicle in the driveway. Max rode vigorously along a steeping path, making sure to keep the creek in sight at all times for navigation, until the woods became too overpowering to drive through.

Maxwell jumped off and began walking through the terrain; cliffs, ledges, swamps, waterfalls, the landscape had it all. After struggling along for a couple hours, Max looked for a good place to set up camp for the day before he went on his hunt. Setting up camp in the wilderness for Max was as easy as counting numbers, and the tent, just incase there was any rain, went up within seconds. Next was the fire pit and crumpled up newspaper he would need for the fire. Firewood was the only thing missing, so he picked up his rifle, just incase he saw dinner lingering around, and traveled west.

Since the previous days had been extremely dry, good wood was easy to come by. Within 50 yards of the campsite he obtained more than enough for the day, but he didn’t want to go back yet. He kept walking along, but unlike the previous adventures, he had never been in this part of the region. However, nothing in nature phased Maxwell; he felt as powerful as the president when he strolled through those woods with his expensive boots and loaded rifle.

Max’s incredible knack for hunting would prevail again as Max, out of the corner of the eye, got a glimpse of a few deer loitering in the distance. Max got his rile ready and began to jog, making sure to avoid the crackle of leaves. However, leaves crackling would not even be close to the thundering noise of the ground suddenly collapsing under Maxwell. It felt as if the ground, like wood, just broke from under him. Max fell at least eight feet, and this time, he could not avoid a cracking sound.
Max lay in the ditch, ankle broken, with no way of escaping this imprisoning whole. Max felt water drip down his face and saw the enormous black clouds that lay overhead. Max tried to get his mind off death, think of his great past, but it was meaningless – every time he looked up, he realized death was inevitable.