I am crouching in rain, snapping spruce twigs to place them on my infant fire. He hadn’t checked my pockets, had missed the flint when he stole my gear.
Larger sticks next. First focus on defying death by hypothermia; then get my knife and his gun, and kill my husband.
Rosemary Bush is a scientist and writer living in Chicago. Some of her work can be found at rosemarybush.org.