imported_SaltWrench

Started this awhile ago, (Coincidently, right after my girlfriend dumped me) but dropped it when I moved to Saint Louis. Special Thanks to Lyte it up 420 for his story (Prisoners of war), which kind of inspired me to pick it back up. I'll add more chapters if it gets a response, consider this a teaser.

Chapter One: Day One

The summer had been as cold as any could remember. The elders complained constantly that it was unnatural and that something bad was coming. Now autumn came and it too, was colder than normal. The leaves had fallen from the trees with almost no color change, which angered the tourists who had come to enjoy the spectacle. Snow was expected by the end of September, and that was only a week away. The people sat by the beach watching the waves crash on the shore. There was a Nor’easter coming in over Superior, and those on the north shore of Lake Michigan were expecting to see some effects from that.

So it was that Ryan Spruce Giovanni came to his new home. Named after his grandparents, Ryan, his Irish grandfather on his mother’s side, Spruce for his Ojibwe grandmother’s maiden name, and Giovanni, his father’s name, and his father’s father’s name. The forest looked dead as Ryan drove his Jeep down the dirt road that led to the property that had been willed to him by his grandmother.

The road ended abruptly as it opened into a small clearing after a blind right turn. Ryan pulled the Jeep to the middle of the clearing and turned it off. He thought better of it and turned the ignition back to the on position without starting the engine. He picked out a CD from his case and slid it into the player. He rolled down the windows and turned up the music as he set to unpacking his tent. He spread the tarp out on a high point in the clearing and set to the business of erecting the tent. He briefly considered not putting on the rain fly, but the wind had already picked up slightly from the northeast, and there were ominous clouds on the horizon. He pulled out the rain fly and secured it to the tent, driving the stakes into the ground for the additional guy lines that would further secure the fly.

He looked at his watch, only three in the afternoon. It was only noon where she was. She probably wasn’t even awake. He looked to his cell phone. “No Service,” was all it provided it him with, to think he had actually considered calling her. He was still weak to want her, but at least the phone had the strength he lacked, he thought.

He forced himself to put her out of his mind as went to get his chainsaw. He would need some fire before the night was out, and he couldn’t spend his time thinking about the past when his future depended on staying alive through the night, and doing that would require some measure of warmth. He noticed that it was much colder this year than it had ever been this time of year; no doubt he would wake up to a layer of frost covering everything.

Ryan pulled the tin of tobacco from his passenger seat and rolled himself a cigarette. He pulled out his lighter and slowly drew the first of the smoke into his lungs. He immediately closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the smoke as it caressed his lungs with its sweet and smooth yet robust taste. He had given up on filters three months prior when his grandmother had passed, and couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to go back to smoking with one.

Priming the chainsaw, Ryan pulled the cord and it roared to life. He walked to the edge of the clearing and set upon a fallen birch, cutting the limbs first and then cutting the trunk into two-foot sections. He then moved onto a rather large, fallen elm tree. He cut one section at one foot, and trimmed the rough edge from the bottom, where the tree had broken and turned off the chainsaw. He rolled the elm section back to tent, and flipped it down.

Returning to where he had left the chainsaw, he noticed a small hole under where the elm had rested. Picking up the chain saw and slowly walking back to the now dismembered birch. He carried the chainsaw and one piece of the birch back with him to the tent.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sawing trees down to manageable size and carrying the back to the tent. By five that evening, the clouds that rolled in from the northeast obscured the sun, and the dark gray billows looked more threatening than ever. Ryan went back to the Jeep and brought out the axe, to begin splitting his spoils.

The axe swings became more and more uncoordinated as Ryan’s mind drifted back to her. He retreated to the Jeep once again and brought out a small tin. From it, he pulled pinched out a small amount of his last grow, and rolled a small joint. He pulled out the lighter once again and lit it, pulling the smoke into his lungs. He held it there for a short while, gathering his thoughts.

Three more hits and Ryan put the joint out saving it for later. He returned to the business of chopping wood, able to concentrate on the task at hand more amply with the THC in his system. His head drifted out and splitting the wood was life second nature as his mind drifted to other places, and thought about the past three months.

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“Hun, we need to talk.”
“Yeah babe, you know I’m always all ears for you.”
“Ryan,” she hesitated, “I’m late.”
Ryan paused for a split second wondering if she meant what he thought she meant.
“How long?”
“Ten days.”
“Jesus Steph, you should have told me sooner.”
“I was afraid you’d be angry.”
“Why would I be angry about this? You know I love you and any child we have would be just as loved.”
“Ryan,” she hesitated again, longer this time, “I don’t think that it’s yours.”

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