I never enjoyed fishing before, seems like I will not get a feel for it any time soon. Being hot, not in metaphorical way, was already driving me mad and with the sun shining both from the top, as well as the reflection in the pond - I was being slowly roasted by the natural oven. I don't know quite when, but at some point I found myself simply staring at my own reflection in the water. It wasn't even two days, or day cycles rather, but I already looked quite beaten up. Dark circles under the eyes and the tired look on my face was present for the last five years, so it's nothing new. Bed-hair that looked more like a straw bale than a head of a person was already dry, even though I've shoved it into the stream to cool off. My chin was covered in patches of short facial hair, I didn't shave that often so it already was about a week since I last used a razor.

"So I will grow a beard here.." - Growing a beard wasn't something I ever achieved, as I lost any patience when the beard started itching. I doubt I would be able to manage shaving with a piece of glass.

My skin was already turning from pale-white to light-red, if I keep staying under the sun for long periods of time, I will either burn to crisp or.. well there is no other option. I don't tan that well, so I will have to deal with sunburns as well.

The fish didn't want to get caught, at all. Every one of the lunges I did - missed, though I was able to scratch a fish once. That was about three hours ago, my progress seemed too slow. If that goes on, I will get weaker and eventually starve. I couldn't get to the birds that were so far up, that I couldn't even see them. Only the noise from their occasional chirping and flapping. I really wished for a dummy guide to surviving in a fantasy forest, though it didn't seem so much fantasy to me, other than new environment I was yet to see anything supernatural.. other than the two mutant midgets from before.

On that note, I was getting used to the sounds of the forest. Seems like my mind is slowly getting used to the information flow, and separates the sounds that it recognizes. Before it was like listening to a mash of sounds, but now, I could tell about a fifth of the sounds apart. I didn't get any skills, just got used to the fucking mishmash of subtle forest sounds. That's what happens when you suddenly have no background music - you hear the ambient environment a lot more, and trust me - it seemed like static from TV, disorienting to say the least.

Before sitting down into the shade, I made a little detour and collected some thicker vines and a few long, thin branches. Even resting should be used for something, otherwise I would get nothing done. So, I started weaving a basket, which was easier than I really thought. Well - actually it was a fishing trap, but it begins in the same way as a basket. I had seven long thin branches, which I tied together on one end, so that I could start weaving the vine around them. It is important to have odd number of ribs for the basket. If you take an even number, you will not be able to weave in a pattern I was going to, well it's not like I knew more than a simplest pattern at all. Simple is good though, simple means it is doable, plus even if you don't know the intricacies of the task before you, or don't even have a guidebook, logic is your best friend. Weaving a basket is the same as assembling furniture from IKEA - get your shit together and hope for the best.

I simply tied a vine in a loop to the base of the seven ribs, then started wrapping it around the sticks. Under one, over the other, go on and repeat until you make a full circle. When you come to the rib you started from, you will notice that according to the pattern you will have to go over it, whereas you started by going under. That way, the pattern repeats itself every two full circles, making a simple basket.

When the piece of vine runs out, just shove it firmly between the previous layers, it should hold just fine, then take a new one and continue from where you left. Sooner than later the monstrosity that I was making started to look sort of like a basket. Shaped like a cone, it would most likely do just fine as a fish trap..well, if only I had some bait to put inside of the construction.

When you complete the cone, you should take the ends of the ribs and bend them, shoving the sticks between the vines. This way, they will keep everything from falling apart. The basket won't look amazing, but it should do it's job. With the cone ready, all that was left to do- was to make a smaller cone with the tip sewn off, but that I left for later. It was time to get back to fishing, as the sun hid behind a cloud.

I entered the water, ankle-deep as usual and froze ready to strike with the spear. And once more I got consumed by the process and didn't notice the time pass. Focusing at one task at a time can be good in some situations, however this wasn't the case.

Strike with the spear, fail, get back into position and wait. The cycle repeated itself and so did my failures. I scratched a fish by it's hard scales a few times, but it was still kind of hard to hit. Probably some of the people in a similar situation would excel and catch a few dozens of the scaly torpedo, but I wasn't the capable one. Practice makes perfect, and this was exactly what happened. I mean I practiced and was as far from perfect as it could be, missing and even losing balance a few times, falling into the water and scaring the fish away. They returned right back, either they were mocking me, or they thought I wasn't a danger.

I wanted to prove the fish wrong, but they were right, I didn't pose a threat to them. Despite all that, there is another force that applies when repeating the same process over and over and over again, and no, I'm not talking about insanity, even though I wasn't far from it. I mean statistically you ought to get a lucky hit once in a few thousand strikes. Plain and simple - if you throw a thousand coins in the air, eventually one of them will land on its rib.

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What I am saying - I finally hit a fish with the four pronged spear. Piercing its eye with one of the sharpened edges, not killing it, but pushing it into the mud, where it flailed and wriggled, trying to escape. I held it tightly in place with the spear, not believing my eyes. Food. I immediately grabbed it with my hand, and as hard as I could I threw it in the direction of the shore.

Here a lot of things could happen - I could have failed and lost the fish, thrown it in the opposite direction, but instead something unimaginable occurred. Everything went smoothly. The fish was lying on the moss flapping about, suffocating without the water slowly, and as frozen in place as I was from excitement, I rushed towards it. I had no hammer, or a stick thick enough, plus I didn't want to leave it on the ground while I look for one. So I grabbed the fish and hit it on the tree, making a hard thud noise and feeling it tense up and remain that way, only to relax after a few more hits. Back home I would probably get a bunch of people yelling something about animal abuse and being vegan. I don't care about the feelings of the fish, it would just be hard to cook if it kept jumping like crazy.

The thing about fish - they are slimy, just how slimy they are I understood while trying to gut it using the piece of glass. It slipped all over the place and grass started sticking to the scales. My fingers were trying to hold both the piece of glass and the fish in-place, not as easy as it seems, especially when you try not to cut your own fingers. Next to that I wasn't the biggest fan of the smell, and as you could guess - the fish smelled quite strongly. It took me far too long to finish removing the guts from the lucky fish, but I didn't complain - I would have something to eat. Right after I roast it.

"Goddammit.." -My head tilted in the direction of the sky, a sigh escaped my mouth. With all that fishing and trying to become one with nature I forgot to keep an eye on the fire. Which was already long burnt out, still warm, but with no orange embers in sight. I threw the guts into half-made fishing basket and dropped the fish on the ground. Again- I lost track of something I had to do. Even the fish I caught wasn't a good enough excuse in this case, I wasn't that mad at myself though, mostly annoyed.

So - the spinning of the stick began once more, this time though -it didn't take two hours to start the goddamn fire. Not like I got better at it, probably the fire-sticks dried out a bit during the day. The air was rather dry actually, so anyone could start a fire. Quarter of an hour later the flames were dancing, poking from the hole in the ground, and the fish was leaning towards them from the stick that was jammed right through it. I wanted to eat it straight away, but it still had to cook for a while. My rumbling stomach was not making the process go any faster. The burning wood cracked inside the fire, the little droplets of fat from the fish occasionally dropped onto the orange coals, turning into a black spot that seared a tiny jet of flame.

I sat there for a few minutes thinking about what other tasks I had to do. More importantly - what I had to do which didn't take that long. Digging a hole didn't seem as it would take a long time, so I stopped on that. Even using only a stick and my hands- making a hole for the future use as a toilet was a minute task, or about five-minute task. What caught my attention during the digging, was the way earth felt. It wasn't brittle and falling apart, rather sticky and somewhat oily.

"Seems like clay, and quite a bit of it to be honest.." - The task was complete and I made my way back to the fire through the bushes. There really is a lot of walking around involved, maybe I couldn't sit down and relax due to the nervousness and stress. Nothing just seems comfortable.

I was just in time for the fish to be perfectly cooked...as if. I had to sit and watch it for ten to fifteen more minutes, until I could somewhat say it was cooked. OK, at the time I wasn't thinking about one specific thing - that the fish could be poisonous. I mean - everything could have been poisonous if you think about it, but what other choice I had? Not eat? Doubt it, really. It was a necessary risk.

So I ate the fish. Burning my lips and tongue on the first bite, as it didn't cool off yet, but then taking my time, slowly picking out the bones. The fish had nearly snow-white soft flesh, which was still a bit moist with the juice. It tasted quite bland without any seasoning, though a bit of an earthy taste was present, however I was eating and that's what important. It was pure bliss, food somewhat secured - I was happy. But what's more - it was already nearing evening, a surprise that caught me off guard. Seems like my fishing really took a long time, and to top it off as I sat there eating, the fatigue hit my body like a truck. Every muscle ached, and my head was heavy. With the day being that long, it seems like it took more than twenty-four hours to catch a fish, more than that - I didn't sleep for over two normal days, so my mind was shutting down. I didn't even put away the leftovers, and the charred fish skin was still tightly clamped between my fingers.

It wasn't something I could control, I nodded trying to keep my eyes open, but as I let them close for a split second, I turned off completely. It was a gamble - would it be safe to sleep, or I would regret that immediately. There I sat- on the log, with my face down and a mostly eaten fish in my hand, seems like I didn't let go of it.