The Lone Moon

The brighter the moon, the happier I was.  I did whatever I could during the weeks so I could sleep outside under the stars over the weekend.  Sometimes I went with friends and sometimes I went by myself.  I never told my parents when I went by myself as I knew they would first try to talk them out of it and second, hitch their trailer to their Highlander and join me at my campsite. 

Not that I didn’t enjoy spending time with my parents, btu there were some days I honestly didn’t want to talk to anyone.  And I always felt like that was partially what camping was made for.  Time spent with oneself and with nature.  I wanted to fall asleep to the birds and the insects instead of sirens, horns and slamming doors. 

The last time I went camping by myself was of the most terrifying yet exhilarating camping trips I had ever been on.  The weather was perfect- cool, but sunny with no chance of rain – so I headed to the local campground and set up my tent.  Since I was there so often, I knew the rangers well and the campground like the back of my hand. 

Everything was going as planned until the speed boat hopped the bank and took out my tent.  At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, but when the injured man fell over the side of the boat, I knew it was my chance to disappear. 


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