15 days in this hell hole. The cold air tickled my skin as it ripped the flesh from my bones. The blizzard outside is blinding, and every gust of wind whips up a fresh barrage of ice that cuts like knives. I've been trapped in this godforsaken cave, isolated on an island where the sun barely shines through the massive thick trees. I can only guess at the time of day, but it doesn't matter much here. It is an endless cycle of survival, day and night.

I am overwhelmed with thoughts of Emily, waiting for me alone. The picture of her all alone in this barbaric world, waiting for my return fuels my determination. I must get back to her, and to do that, I have to survive this place. But it's easier said than done.

The first few days are devastating. My body, now the body of a malnourished child, struggled with even the simplest tasks. I spent the first few days just building my motor abilities, my hands were trembling as I foraged for berries and sipped rainwater from the leaves. But berries alone wouldn't keep me alive for long.

On the fourth day I set out to explore the island, hoping to find a strong source of water and a hunting ground. What I got instead was a land twisted by some nightmarish logic. The trees here are formidable, their trunks as broad as houses, their branches twisting into nearly impenetrable canopies through which light passes only through narrow slits, giving the forest an eerie daily twilight . . . .

The silence is oppressive. Instead of the usual wild sounds—birds, rustling leaves, running animals—there's a heavy, almost palpable silence and occasionally I hear a distant rumble or something large passing by in the undergrowth sound. I soon realized that these issues were not ignored.

The predators here are unlike anything I've seen before. They are giant mutated version of animals in my past life. I saw one of them here on the fifth day—a large bear-like creature with its fur ruffling in the snow, its eyes bright with first hunger. It moves slowly, each step shaking the ground, and I knew that if it found me, I was nothing more than fast food

But he didn't see me. It was focused on something else—a herd of colossal deer, their antlers towering like the branches of the trees above them. These predators, it seems, prioritize bigger prey, leaving the smaller creatures like the arctic foxes alone. And those foxes have become my lifeline.

Arctic foxes are plentiful here, probably due to the fact that they're too small to be worth the effort for the giant predators. They reproduce like mice, and they have no natural predators that can control their numbers. I have seen whole families of them running through the snow, their white fur blending in perfectly with their surroundings. They're fast and they're smart, but they're not fast enough.

My first kill was an easy one. I made a simple spear out of a branch, and some sharp stones. I covered myself in snow and waited next to their breeding grounds, it was 5 minutes of pure agony waiting for the fox, so the moment I saw one, I ran up and stabbed the spear in her leg cleanly, disabling her movement. When I placed the spear on the fox's neck, I hesitated. Her bright eyes stared at me without blinking, as if challenging me to make the first move. But hunger overcomes any hesitation, and I took the plunge. The spear struck true, but the fox's death was not clean. It yelped, thrashing in the snow, and I had to finish it off with my hands. The blood poured into the snow, the intense red against the white, and I felt guilty. But I couldn't afford guilt. Not here.

Since then, I have gotten better at finding them. I learned their patterns, where they liked to burrow, where they went for drinks. I have traps all around these areas, a simple trap that grabs their legs and holds them until I can finish the job. It's brutal, but it works.

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I'm tanning their skin, making my clothes with their fur, trying to stave off the relentless cold. Their meat is tender but tasty, enough to keep me going. I even found that their bones can be sharpened into better tools, their sinew used for bindings. They are more than just food—they are tools to my survival.

But this life, this cycle of hunting is getting tiring to me. The chill sinks into my bones and constant fear twists my mind. I can't stay in one place for too long; Predators here are extremely unpredictable. I've seen the evidence of their hunts—massive carcasses, half-eaten and left to rot. I know that if I'm not careful, I could end up like one of those unfortunate creatures.

So I keep moving and staying close to the trees for cover. The dense forest provides some protection, but it also limits my visibility. Predators here seem to rely on ambush tactics, and I've had a few close calls. One day, while inspecting one of my traps, I heard a low rumble behind me. I shifted, every muscle tightening as I slowly turned my head. There was no dog, or anything like one, There, not twenty feet away, was a wolf, or something that resembled one. It was massive, its fur bristling like a porcupine's quills, its eyes glowing an unnatural green. I could see the muscles rippling under its skin, and I knew that if it decided to charge, I wouldn't stand a chance.

But it didn't charge. It stared at me for what felt like an eternity, then slowly turned and vanished into the trees. I don't know why it left me alone—maybe it had already eaten, or maybe it didn't see me as a threat. Whatever the reason, I didn't stick around to find out. I abandoned that trap and moved on, my heart pounding in my chest.

Every day is a struggle against the harsh elements and the fierce creatures that inhabit this land. Yet, I find myself growing stronger with each passing moment. My once frail and fragile body has transformed into something far more resilient, developing at a pace that seems almost magical—reminding me of the whimsical laws of my new world. The predators I once feared now seem insignificant compared to the true monsters that lurk out there. It's a constant reminder that in this world, my strength is both a shield and a beacon, guiding me through the chaos.

I've started training, pushing myself to the limit, because I knew it was the only way to survive. Arctic foxes are my main source of livelihood, but they won't be abundant forever. I need to find a way to leave this island, or at least find a safe place to stay.

But what is it like? The island is huge and I have no idea where I am or how to get back to Emily. The thought of her being lonely and vulnerable is a constant pain in my chest. I have to find her, to protect her. But first, I need to sleep.

On the 20th I noticed something unexpected. Exploring the other side of the island, I stumble upon a clearing, the first thing I noticed when I arrived here. In the middle of a clearing is a shack, partially buried in snow and ice. It looks man-made, a relic from a time long past. My heart skips a beat—could this be a way out? A way to contact the outside world?

Cautiously, I approach the structure, every sense on high alert. The clearing feels too open, too exposed. If I were a predator, this is where I would set a trap. But I can't turn back now. I need to know what this place is.

The building structure is old, its metal sides are rusted and the furniture is ruined. I brush off the snow, revealing a door, a half-open door and head into the darkness. My breath catches in my throat. I can't tell the darkness is inviting or foreboding, but I know I have to go inside.

It's cold inside, but at least it's protected from the wind. I turn on the makeshift light and hold it up, illuminating the small room. Shelves line the walls, and on those shelves are boxes and cupboards all covered in a thick layer of dust. I approach a box, open it carefully, and find things inside—old, but useful nonetheless. Canned food, water bottles, first aid kits. It is a treasure, a lifeline in this frigid land.

But it's not just supplies. Upon further investigation, I found a map, roughly drawn, showing the island and what I assumed were safe zones and dangerous areas. There are also comments in a language I don't fully understand, but I recognize some words—life, danger, and help. Everyone who was here before me was also trying to survive, and this was left to someone like me.

Hope glows in my chest. With this, I might just make it. I gather what I can carry, and make a mental note of the location for future trips. As I leave the structure behind, I can't shake the feeling of being watched. The predators here are cunning, and I've just made myself a target by entering their territory. But I push the fear aside. I have to stay alive. For Emily, For myself.

As I make my way back to my temporary camp, the wind picks up, carrying with it the distant howls of the predators. I clutch my makeshift spear tightly, my eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The arctic foxes may be plentiful, but they won't be enough to keep me going forever. I need to find a way off this island, and soon.

But for now, I'll keep moving, keep hunting, keep surviving. Because that's all I can do. One day, I'll find a way back to Emily. But until then, I'll do whatever it takes to stay alive.