Camping’s a great way to clear your mind about important decisions.

His face is flushed as he works his way around the bend. The trail is rough, but still visible. He wears a very expensive jacket to keep himself warm. He’s hiked so high that there’s snow on the ground here. He stops and holds his breath for just a few seconds; it’s as long as he can go since he’s still huffing and puffing from the hike up. The stillness envelopes him immediately. He feels at once reverence and a tingle of fear. He can’t remember a time he’s ever experienced such quiet stillness; he almost feels guilty for violating it.

He turns his attention to his Kelty Camp Hauler 2 and Two Camp Cartons. They’re nice water-resistant containers for organizing your camping gear. The containers have ID sleeves to make organization easy, and the heavy-duty shoulder-strap made them easy to lug up here. He’s not camping, though. He has no tent or sleeping bag. The containers are suspiciously light. He might not have even needed to use them for this trip, but he saw them in the garage and figured he might as well.

He opens them up and takes out some photos. The faces are all smiling, and he smiles back although it’s more of an instinctive response than genuine emotion. He hasn’t let himself genuinely feel anything in years. It may be years since he last looked at these photos, but in an instant they bring him right back. The memories are too much, and for the first time in a long time he cries. He figures he can let himself do that, now. It’s okay to be vulnerable here, alone, in the last few moments.

He takes a thermos from his Kelty Camp Hauler and takes a drink. He fishes from his pocket what anyone else would assume is an aspirin. He knows it’s impossible, but he swears he can almost feel it working immediately. He lies down on the cold, snowy ground against a tree and waits to fall asleep forever.

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