Hatchet

Brian recalls the day he saw his mother kissing another man. He was riding bikes with his friend Terry when he saw his mother sitting in an unknown vehicle kissing a man with short blond hair. He notes that every detail of the memory is precise: “the hot-hate slices of the memory were exact” (30). Then he opens his eyes and screams. He is in shock from the crash and can’t make sense of his surroundings. He doesn’t recall how he survived the crash, only that he did. He feels immense pain all over his body, and his head is very swollen after smashing into the steering wheel. It takes enormous effort to pull himself out of the lake and onto the shore, where he lies down and sleeps until dawn.

When he wakes, he is disoriented, unsure if it is morning or night. His body is still in pain, so he slowly checks himself for wounds or broken bones. He determines that his head is the most severely bruised and he is lucky to be alive without any broken bones. He is in too much pain to move. As the sun rises, droves of mosquitoes begin to swarm him, and Brian tries to hide in his torn windbreaker.