The Walking Stick
This post is written for Sunday Photo Fiction.
He had attended the hiking course just last week. It was part of his plan to get more active this year. The instructor had supplied maps of some nearby trails. Along with the maps he was told he should buy a compass, a walking stick, and a small light backpack.
He had dressed warmly for his early morning walk. It was still quite cold when he began his walk at around 8 a.m. The rolling hills around this part of the state were still wet from some overnight rain showers.
He slipped his new backpack on which contained a small tube of insect repellant, some lip balm, and breakfast bars. He slipped the leather band on his brand new walking stick around his wrist.
He found the first trail making, which was a blue painted arrow on a tree after about a half mile.
For the next forty-five minutes the ground covering became very thick and even using his new walking stick he still stumble a few times. Twenty minutes later in deep brush and not ever finding another trail marking he admitted to himself he was in deep trouble.
Turing around he pushed his walking stick in the ground and he felt it hit something that felt unusual. Looking down he saw that his walking stick had gone right through the right eye socket of a half buried skull.