It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain. I sat with my back against the stone wall and surveyed the scene below, as the rock’s rigid edges stabbed at my skin. The wall of the cave was arched, providing me with just enough room to sit without being peltered by the pouring rain. The howling wind swept through the canopies below me, disturbing the over-grown terrain and everything else that lurks within it. Including me.

At least there will be plenty of water to drink, I thought, as I reminded myself of the desert that was my mouth. My throat felt as rough as the cave wall behind me, and I winced as I swallowed the little saliva that occupied my mouth. My voice was most likely hoarse and rasping from lack of hydration. Not that I have tried speaking. It’s not as if I have anyone to talk to.

As the storm thrashed through the forest, I pulled out the one thing I had with me from the outside world. I reached into the pocket of my jacket, and my eyes met my own, as a looked down at a photograph of my family. The photo was dirty and tattered, much like me from days out here. A faint smiled reached my lips, as I thought of the ones I loved and missed the most.

The photograph had only been freshy taken before I arrived here, and my eyes brushed over the picture of my kids, husband and I, as if expecting the photo to become reality. Their faces, including my own, were beaming with joy, completely oblivious to what would occur that very same week. Water ran down my cheeks, but it was salty unlike the rain. And in that very moment, I wished more than anything to be rescued from this nightmare.