One Step Too Far

Miggy sees me watching the approaching wave of dark clouds. "Maybe it will slow him down." The guy who's been outfitted by Survivalists "R" Us? No, he probably has some waterproof supersuit that repels lightning. I hate him so much.

Man can progress as much as we want. Mother Nature still owns our ass.

I don’t speak. In this day and age, we all talk too much and hear too little. Listening has become a forgotten art that the world is sorely missing.

When it comes to basic survival, you want to remember the rule of threes: You can go three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Prioritize accordingly.

originally walked away from material possessions because I felt the weight of them dragging me down. Now I don’t own anything I can’t afford to lose because I don’t want to die one day trying to protect something I never should’ve cared about in the first place.

...at the end of the day, the people left behind matter as much as the ones who are missing. We mourn the ones we've lost, but we agonize over the pieces of ourselves they took with them. The identities we'll never have again. The emotions we're certain we'll never feel again. The sense of our own selves, becoming undone and disappearing just as completely and suddenly as those who vanished.

You can go three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food.

father might have been my favorite playmate, but she was my hero,

Plans give you a list of tasks to keep you from drowning in your own fear. Plans give you a feeling of control, even if it’s just an illusion at the time.

we all talk too much and hear too little.

I originally walked away from material possessions because I felt the weight of them dragging me down. Now I don’t own anything I can’t afford to lose because I don’t want to die one day trying to protect something I never should’ve cared about in the first place.

The first three men came stumbling into town shortly after ten a.m., babbling of dark shapes and eerie screams and their missing buddy Scott and their other buddy Tim, who set out from their campsite before dawn to get help.

If you hoard other people’s tragedies, does that make your own easier to bear?

my throat. A seeping warmth that made my restless limbs and racing brain slow, steady, quiet. Alcohol is my first love and most abusive relationship. All else has paled in comparison. Even my love for Paul.

Now I don’t own anything I can’t afford to lose because I don’t want to die one day trying to protect something I never should’ve cared about in the first place.

Bob repeats an option that sounds pretty close to the birds I've been hearing in the morning. Not knowing amy species, I've been referring to them mentally as the happy birds. Versus crows and ravens, which are never happy. And seagulls and pigeons. which are just plain annoying.

I'll know if one of the bodies belongs to my son. A parent always knows his child. The look on his face would've broken my heart if I didn't want so badly to slap him. Martin, we've stumbled upon a killer's hunting grounds....We need to move.

Most people would pull out their smartphones and Google away. Unfortunately, my job -- obsessively locating missing people -- doesn't pay at all, while my side hustle -- bartending part-time at the location of the moment -- doesn't pay well. The result is that my "smart" phone is an old flip phone with a limited data plan.

The gift of gratitude, we say in AA. It took me a long time to find it, and I’m still not the best at remembering it, but every now and then, I almost understand.

I’m filled with the age-old terror of making a mistake, looking foolish. How is it we all leave high school, but high school never leaves us? Bob

Small children take shelter,” I murmur. “The elderly head downhill. The inexperienced follow the path of least resistance.” “And

Watching her, I’m filled with the age-old terror of making a mistake, looking foolish. How is it we all leave high school, but high school never leaves us?

In this day and age, we all talk too much and hear too little. Listening has become a forgotten art that the world is sorely missing

experience and the advantage of being the one

We can walk his last steps. We can retrieve his bones to be laid to rest next to his mother’s. But we’ll still never know everything that happened to Tim. Sooner or later, his father and his friends will have to come to terms with that. That the quality of their future sleep won’t be determined by a visit to his grave, but by their ability to let go.

Unfinished business. An addict’s life is filled with such instances. The coulda, woulda, shouldas that will never happen again.