I can't wait any longer. I need to know. I need to see for myself, I need to see that it’s real and he’s gone.
I climb down the rocky terrain, the moisture in the air dense, the ground soft and unstable beneath my feet, as I make my way downhill towards the location of the wreckage.
The low-hanging branches and overgrown bushes graze my legs as I pass one after another, their sharp edges delivering stinging sensations as they slice and prick at my skin.
The incline down to where I know his truck landed is horrific, my boots constantly slipping on the soggy ground. Looking at my hands, I cringe when I see that they’re covered in mud, and I have deep cuts across my palms, the result of using them as a buffer between my body and the ground in an attempt to prevent further damage each time
