I know, I know.…Bad call. I promised myself I wouldn’t, but I had no choice. I needed to find food. Pronto. One unclassified red wildberry was enough to seize my stomach with massive cramps. I threw up—twice—even though there wasn’t anything left to purge. I sounded like a donkey with colic, heave-ho-ing a lot of bile and air and emptiness—heehaw, heehaw, heehaw! Food. I’ve got to find food. Hello, New Leaf.…Boy, were you ever a sight for sore eyes. Sore, pecked out, bleeding eyes. The grounds were nothing but a burnt shell. The gutted cabins looked like the long-forgotten skeletons of some prehistoric pack of wooly pachyderms, their bones pecked clean of their meat by scavenging animals. Whatever remains of these oversized frames had been left to decay, swallowed up by the surrounding wilderness. Walking through the front door of my old cabin, I looked up and noticed the roof had been scorched back to its beams, compliments of Firefly.
