Captain’s Logos

The chunky boy scout was feeling worse than ever. Not only had he scraped up both knees after he slipped on a rock, but his ankle was twisted and, try as he might, he could not walk without limping. He tried bracing his steps against trees near the path, and to add insult to injury, his hands were now coated with sticky tree sap which made it difficult to use his pudgy fingers.



"Stupid camping trip," he grumbled to himself as he hobbled down the path. His toes were numb from the cold and his stomach was growling. He fingered the outside of the pocket, feeling for the last bit of a chocolate bar he had stashed after s'more night around the campfire.



The clear, thin blue sky was softening, and the shadows in the forest lengthened as the group pressed forward through the winding path. As the light began to fade around them, the leader quickened his pace in an effort to make it back before the dark enveloped them and they had no choice but to pitch their tents one last night. They weren't due back until the next morning anyways, but the leader reckoned that no one, most of all himself, would mind cutting the trip short by one cold, miserable night.



"Try to keep up back there." he said to the portly lad. "You're holding up the rest of the group."



"I'm tryyying," the boy whined. "It's kind of hard to speed up when you can't even walk" he said as he exaggerated his limp for dramatic effect. But the leader did not even so much as look back as he muttered something under his breath and glanced at his watch.



"Two more hours of light," the leader thought. "We can make this."



The frustrated boy grabbed for a branch to steady himself, which snapped off under the strain. "Stupid branch." He tried for a few moments to drop it but the sap stuck to the twig and he couldn't get his hands free of it. Every time he grabbed it with one hand, freeing the other, it would only stick itself to the next hand. Frustrated, he threw it as hard as he could, and it tore loose from his hand, but sent the gummy twig twirling up into his face and poked one of his eyes.



"DAMN IT!" the usually mild-mannered boy screamed in exasperation.



The leader turned his head. "Stop playing with sticks and march!" he yelled.



The boy decided that as soon as they got home, if they got home, he was going to write a letter to the entire scout organization about how, every night, his leader had tried to molest him in his sleeping bag.



A gust of icy wind rushed down the path past and through them, making all the trees, and all the boys, shudder as it left.