It's not exactly a fact that I can just tell you,

like how conservation efforts in northern Michigan

had caused an explosion in the great wolf population,

or that my frigid state's abandoned copper mines

were not the place we had intended on going caving.

I still remember that night in a bar where

in a day's fury of whisky shots between the both of us

he first pitched the idea that I should join him

on his yearly upper peninsula hiking escape.

I remember how I had reluctantly agreed, despite my plans

to spend that particular weekend glued to the couch.

That elated pat of approval which nearly spilled my drink is

one thing that sticks in my mind quite fervently.

We'd managed to be great friends for years

despite the fact that I was a homeboy,

and he strictly found happiness outdoors.

This was due in part to the fact

that we were both booze hounds.

Only then I found myself thick in uncomfortable snow gear,

ensnared by a blinding blizzard which seemed to

all but inhibit his movements.

The only light in the sky was dull red of twilight

glowing above the snow-capped evergreens.

The equipment we carried was making my joints ache.

Even though he offered to shoulder most of the burden,

I carried no less than my fair share,

since he had provided it all.

We planned to set up camp overnight,

then explore the caves in the morning.

Which required gear for camping, cooking, and climbing,

creating a hefty rustle with each step,

crunching the new-fallen snow.

What I know is more of a concept that I can only hope to

elucidate through careful construction of context.

I only ask that you judge my actions introspectively

as I attempt to explain myself to you.

Slowly but surely, we had drifted from the trail

as a dizzying number of trees and snow covering the

twisting path left us constantly second-guessing

ourselves to where we were at.

Even a meticulous eye on the compass

couldn't help us keep walking straight through

the haze of biting wind and obfuscating white.

When we happened upon that clearing, we had no choice

but to set up shelter amongst the stumps of

that logged section of forest, leaving me

increasingly grateful to be lugging around

our large, insulated dome tent.

Even as I stood shivering through the harsh fury,

he had set up a structure within minutes on his own,

only breathing a sigh of relief

once we'd both crawled inside.

Pouring the whiskey we had brought would be dangerous

in this cold, so we focused instead on huddling amongst

the thermal sleeping tents and dim lanterns.

I had set aside my complaints of discomfort

as we swept through stories and trail mix,

just like any typical night at the bar.

What I know is, as underlying as not only necessity,

but as nature itself, I will tell you what I know

because it could be said in one word.

The howling began at a distance barely even registering

in our minds, just another faint cry of

the many creatures we shared the forest with.

The first time it was loud enough to interrupt our stories,

the shiver crawled up our backs and he reached

and turned the dial of the lantern, just in case.

We were quieter now, our camaraderie suppressed

to a dull whisper, becoming more and more sparse

until being finally overtaken by silence.

The last cries of the peak had not sounded far away,

though enough time was passing for security

to peek its timid head, only to withdraw once more

as a growl made our eyes shoot open.

I remember how my chest ached as we knelt by the

plastic window, unzipping the canvas covering,

appear out in the distant lines of trees beyond the stumps.

Nausea gripped my stomach when I carried the sight,

with the first pair of eyes cutting through the darkness,

reflecting the moon's pale glow.

More and more pairs were quick to dot

that treeline lingering just outside.

I nearly screamed when he suddenly clenched my wrist

to pull me outside before we were completely surrounded.

We ended up leaving our gear behind except

for a light rucksack of caving equipment.

Refusing to enter our line of sight, the eyes and snarls

dashed menacingly along the conifers as we sprinted

further into the man made clearing,

already wheezing as my coat fluttered behind me,

the twigs snapping under my foot.

We thought that we were lucky to have encountered

this cavern along this log-side hill.

A rocky burrow created through narrow,

horizontal passages into a mining tunnel below.

When I placed my hand on the unassuming mound

for support as we fled, my stomach dropped

at the sheerness of the pit within.

To enter would mean a fall of at least 50 feet,

though it would be our best chance of evading the predators.

So we both braced ourself, I could scarcely even breathe

looking down into the snow-banked excavation.

Every instinct tried to pull me back,

crying out, don't jump, you idiot!

It was all my stupid idea.

What I know is...

Hunger.

Hunger isn't a feeling you get right before dinner

or after skipping breakfast or lunch.

I would've claimed to have felt hunger before now,

but it was only discomfort.

Hunger isn't just a dull ache of an unfulfilled routine,

but a fierce agitation of the body

that wastes away without reprieve.

It takes absolute present, consuming every thought.

It becomes unequivocally lost in their own hunger.

By the time we had time to go down the steep drop,

laying crippled in the snow and dirt,

the predators had undoubtedly moved onto a more accessible

meal, though my friend had landed on his forearm,

fracturing it as a result of the fall.

The clear agony in his stifled expression

made my skin bristle and crawl with sympathy.

And I could hardly stand to look at the swollen,

twisted limb that stood before me.

Even though we had rope and pitons,

climbing out was not an option.

I lacked a physicality to make the escape on my own,

and his injuries crippled him,

leaving us with only one option,

progressing further into the abandoned mines.

He guided my hand as I used the pitons and

straps from the harness to bind his arms

in a makeshift splint before helping him to his feet.

The air was completely still except for a burrow far above,

and the dusty beams and torches lining the shaft

had been long since abandoned.

Our only recourse was to start walking and hope for an exit.

Of course, hope is one of the many things that

hushed by deafening wails of hungry pangs in a weary body.

Time...

Time was the first of the things I began to lose track of,

as well as my sense of direction as the shaft

seemed to twist and loop endlessly,

intercut by maze-like and narrow tunnels

familiar, perhaps, to some long dead foremen.

I grew to despise our footsteps made as they echoed into

maddeningly unpredictable patterns against rock and soil.

We willed our bodies forward, certain that an exit

could just be around a next corner, until we became

too exhausted and stopped to rest, even though we

still held out hope to wander our way to freedom.

We rationed out what little water we had responsibly,

preparing to make it last as long as possible.

And so we continued, pressing on time and time again

with our tenacity constantly unrewarded.

I imagined the world outside carrying on without me,

not even noticing the fact that I hadn't returned

from a hiking trip days after the scheduled time.

Not even bothering to search the wet, muggy air of the caves

that stung my throat miserably, and the soles of my feet

stung horribly with each passing step.

At first my friend matched my resolve pound for pound,

encouraging me onwards, but before long I could see

that he too was slowing and growing weaker.

The fracture in his arm became even more swollen

than before, terribly discolored and leaking

a putrid, infected pus, but we still shuffled on

in our cycle of exhausted sleep and wandering.

Something changed.

Something changed, now we weren't even

speaking with one another anymore.

Our water reserves had run dry and a terrible hunger

choked out whatever resolve remained.

We could scarcely even move if we wanted to,

lying face to face on opposite sides of the mine shaft

in complete resignation to our fate.

The atmosphere was pure, visceral dread

as we both awaited the end in the cold darkness,

completely empty and alone.

Would we even realize it when we died?

My awareness was shrinking as I

faded in and out of consciousness.

Sprawled out on the tunnel's ground, I could barely

register the sickness which gripped my friend.

Only a short distance away,

he was completely drained of strength.

He couldn't fight off this infection

from his fracture much longer.

And it put a considerable toll on his health

as he wheezed and quivered, turning terribly thin and pale.

I could tell at a glance he'd be gone soon,

leaving me on my own in these winding, inescapable tunnels.

On the forefront of each thought was

my now intimately familiar hunger,

a sensation so powerful and exquisitely pervasive

that it completely overtakes the mind,

of crushing it into something primeval.

Some unflinching in its detachment

that could hardly even be called human.

I'm telling you that I know hunger

in the hopes that you will forgive me.

I don't exactly know when my friend died,

if it was starvation or infection that did him in,

or if it could've been avoided if we hadn't been

hidden away in these godforsaken caverns in the first place,

but every urge in my body focused to a point.

A disgusting proposal floating on the top of my

meddling hunger, all signs of life had all vanished.

And his pulse was entirely absent.

I recalled the wolves and how we had denied them

fulfillment from that oppressive hunger.

How I sought something similar and so completely perverse.

My fingertips danced over to the pallid skin

as I found myself having drawn too close,

investigating the cadaver and subsequently appraising it.

As much as I hate to admit it,

what use did he have for flesh anymore, anyway?

These thoughts could hardly even be called my own.

I wouldn't have been able to tear skin away

with my bare hands, not in my weakened state.

My tantalized digits drifted over to the splint,

pulling one of pitons free.

as my hands quivered in disbelief.

Hunger had completely strangled my appeals

to my frazzled mind that they made to decency.

The metal stake felt heavy in my hands and I closed my eyes

tautly, repeating to myself again and again,

he wouldn't feel a thing, just to steel myself.

My salivating jaw quivered as I positioned the

pointed tip to pluck three of the most

tender and accessible meat available.

There was only slight resistance from the soft surface

of his left eye as the membrane was breached by the stake.

The pitons in the section, smooth and swift

before being drawn back with a firm tug.

My shaking fingernails were more than sufficient to tear

away the stake attached to the back of the round opening.

Leaving blood drizzling down his face as I