30
Once again, I am standing in front of the house that gave me so much misery a month ago. A month. I have counted the days and the nights, and today marks the thirtieth day that I have spent in the wild. Only now have I managed to find my way back to the house. Today, I am not the polished, respectable man who stood before this house a month ago. My hair is long and wild, my clothes are torn, and I am covered in filth. I have slept under the trees and wandered for hours, sometimes even days.
It is odd; somehow, I have never needed to eat or drink throughout this entire month. Just the thought of most food repels me. The only food that I can bear thinking about is a large, bloody slab of meat. I would never have thought it possible that a man could survive a month without food or drink,
