A memorable experience (English assign)

The rain was old testament the night I lugged the 30 kilo back-pack across the slippery terrain. The man I followed begrudgingly seemed a little abnormal. His mind was elsewhere and I couldn’t read him, which was strange, because I was very good at doing just that. I’d never met this man before, but he was no stranger. I knew him as Uncle James. My Father’s brother.1

A single thought ran through my mind while I followed him through the sharp bristled scrub. Why the hell did I come here? Where was ‘here‘ exactly? All I knew we were somewhere in Tasmania, heading for the mountains. He promised me a joyful hiking trip across the Tasmanian region. I’m always up for an adventure, so I agreed enthusiastically. 2

I knew this trip wouldn’t be all sunshine and roses as soon as we reached the halfway point for the day. He chose to tell me then we had no equipment, no first aid supplies and my back-pack wasn’t strapped properly. I knew back-packs like these were heavy, but my back and shoulders ached so much I felt sick. Now I knew why. After he showed me how to fasten my burden around the hips, I forgot all about the lack of equipment. What would we need it for anyway?3

Finally I saw the cabin we’d take shelter in for the night. It was at that moment my body became accustomed to the weight I carried. But by then it didn’t matter because the day was over. I dropped my back-pack and puffed as though I’d been submerged in water for too long. I noticed other travellers in the cabin, ‘tourists’ they called themselves. Who would possibly want to tour here? They were all looking at me strangely, some wanted to take photos of me. I couldn’t possibly have been that good looking, not while I was drenched in mud and sweat. The whole cabin broke out and shot looks of concern in my direction. I looked down and gasped. I was dripping in blood. Who’s blood? Shit. My blood. It looked as though I’d been shot with a 9mm. Blood spots covered my shirt and dripped down my pants. I ripped off my shirt to find black leeches wriggling into my body. These weren’t the type to burn off either, oh no, these bastards were too small, you had to pick them out one at a time. When the others were asleep, I lied on the wooden plank my Uncle set up and pulled out leeches from my head, feet and everywhere in between. During the night I heard him talking to one of the tourists. They were asking him why we never took the path. It wasn’t until six months later I discovered he took me across a region that’s suicide to cross in winter. 4

I thought the next day would be better. The sun’s UV rays warmed my face while I put my damp gear back on. We started for the next hike, this time passing other tourists. The sun was my enemy now, I borrowed sun block from a passing tourist, but I could’ve sworn my skin startled to sizzle. In the afternoon we climbed Mount Ossa, the biggest mountain in the State. I reached the top, and by the time we were at the bottom I wanted to go home. I’d done all I wanted. The tourists moved off to the second cabin, but my Uncle stayed.5

‘What are we doing?’ I asked.6

‘We’re going to climb the other mountain’ He replied, ‘come on, it’ll be fun.’7

I pleaded to go back, but he just ignored me, and by the time we set off their were no tourists to follow. This next mountain was much shorter, but there were shards of rock that looked way too sharp for comfort, when I almost got to the top, I realised my holiday was nothing short of a nightmare. I struggled to reach the peak. Now I knew where equipment came in handy. My Uncle told me to grab a rock for support. I did, then saw his boot crush it to dust and I fell, tumbling across rocks, scared out of my brains, death looming ahead.8

My Uncle made dessert in the second cabin. I still remember how his eyes bulged in shock when I entered.9

‘Sorry I’m late Uncle James, I was rock and rollin’’ 10

My face was cut, my chest and abdomen bruised and every single bone ached. But I was lucky. When I fell my head smacked into a tree, thought it broke my nose, but I dropped enough speed and landed on a flattened rock. When I reached the bottom I found a tiny flag. A path. 11

My Uncle never said anything. I didn’t dare sleep, I couldn’t sleep. I went out of the cabin and got a drink by the waterfall. I thought through my options by the beautiful water and realised the only way off this hell forest was with my Uncle. He was the only one who knew the way back to the car.12

The next day was our last. The tourists took the path , while my Uncle told them we were taking a short cut. It was the most nerve-racking short cut I ever took. We hiked through steep slippery forest. All the while I saw the rocky waters twenty feet below. A fall I wouldn’t survive. We came in contact with a large hole. We needed to jump. It was a tough one, but we couldn’t go back. We had no food and couldn’t continue with out the energy source. With an odd technique he skilfully made his way to the other side. It was at the very end he lost his footing. I heard a crack and saw my psychopathic Uncle fall to the rocky waters. He caught hold of a tree during the panic. It snapped. Then something else caught his wrist.13

My arm reached out, the back-pack on the ground behind me. A part of me wanted to see him go, but most of me wanted to get out of this place, and he was my only ticket home. 14

After that, any tricks he tried to pull had stopped and we both finally made it to the car. He stopped by a derelict building and got out. I took the moment to search through my bag. Gas bottles were stuffed at the bottom. I became tense. He came back and gave me a bottle of water. Poison? I looked into his eyes. I could read him now. 15

I drank gratefully and relaxed into my seat. It was over now.16