Survival Story *not Really A Research Paper Its A Creative Story*

This isn’t happening. Things like this don’t happen to people like me. I sit on a log and look up at the canopy of trees hovering over me. I glance around, seeing only other confused faces glance at me. It’s quiet. The loudest quiet I’ve ever heard. My head floods with thought and I close my eyes, pushing back frantic images. I inhale my surroundings, trying desperately to make sense of the silent riot occurring all around me.

My attention is drawn to a noise. My eyes wander, searching for the source. It sounds like the cry of a small animal; it sounds too familiar to be dangerous. It becomes louder and I recognize the innocent scream. I rise from the dead stump and hurry towards the sound. It has stopped but still it echoes in my mind. A bright whiteness washes over me and I find myself sitting uncomfortably in my adjustable seat. A newspaper sits in my lap but I’m too anxious to notice. Something is wrong, I can sense it. My ears perk up at an obnoxious noise. It sounds like the cry of a small animal. Aside from my aisle is an infant. A smile runs across my face, hiding my fear.

My feet strike the ground, launching me faster heading for the sound. Finally I reach it, almost wishing I hadn’t. Here lies a mother, child in hand and a red stream flowing down her lifeless face. The bundle in her arms screams again, snapping me back into reality. Taking the infant in my arms, I silently pray for our survival. I retreat to the small clearing to find the same glances staring back at me. I take a glimpse, surveying the scattered items laying on the earthy floor. I see a small first aid kit lying open by a sapling. It is empty except for a roll of white gauze. I take it in my hands, swiftly wrapping it around the small child and hoping the warmth of the thin fabric will turn purple lips back to a healthy hue. I hold the newborn to my chest and wrap it further in my own clothes.

“We’ll never make it.” A nameless voice utters, stabbing the silence. I glance up and glare at the thought. “It’s too cold, we have no supplies. We’ll never make it.” He repeats.

Ignoring the obvious truth I recall the items I carried with me on the flight. Things useless every day, but now could determine life or death. A small pocket knif...

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...ght, illuminating her round face with the artificial glow. Pulling the bottle out of my coat pocket, I curl my fingers around the cap and rotate it. With a few turns the cap falls into my palm. I put the rim to Olivia’s small lips and slowly tilt the bottle, allowing her to sip the warm milk. Suddenly, I was joined by the woman. There she was again, her face lit up with the glow of the fire. Her beauty almost made me forget everything that was happening. She has a devilish grin on her face and her eyes twinkled in delight. “After that dinner I’m sure everyone would prefer something sweeter.”

My expression turns to confusion. “What do you mean?” I ask.

Under her coat she holds a box. I can’t think of what it is until I read the label. “Hershey’s?” I ask with a smile on my face. “Where did you find these?”

“I was going to save them for myself,” she explains, “but there are enough to share.” Her smile was warm enough to allow me to forget the cold weather. I become distracted by Olivia’s quiet gurgling.

Looking into her deep brown eyes I find the hope to survive.