The Winchester Sister (COMPLETED)

Chapter 39

January 10, 1986

I look at the stars. From here, on the ground, they look so far away. I can barely even see them through the tops of the redwood trees here in California. I know fair well that redwoods are the tallest trees in the world, easily reaching three hundred feet. A fall like that could kill me.

"Do I have to?" I ask Dad.

He simply nods. I turn back to face the tree, heart pounding.

I hate my father. Every month this happens, he makes me do this fantastic stunt that could quite easily kill me. I have to climb a sequoia tree. I can't. I know I can't, I'm not strong enough yet. But I have to try. It's better then the alternate, stay here on the ground with Dad.

I grab onto the base of the tree. Eyeballing it, it's over three hundred feet, the tallest tree in this forest. I pull myself up, continuing to climb until I'm (estimate) a hundred and fifty feet in the air. Then my hand slips. I gasp as I begin to fall backward before grabbing onto a branch that's sticking out. I almost scream as I hold on with one hand, my feet and right hand dangling out into the air.

I manage to pull myself up. I climb to the top of the tree, and when I'm there, I don't regret it.

I can see most of the city from here. It's beautiful. The cars look like ants, the people invisible. The buildings look small. Looking down, I get a bit dizzy, but I can see my dad, just barely, waving at me to come down.

I try my best. I climb down as far as I can before my arms give out and I fall. I only fall about twenty feet, but my ankle gives out as I fall and I can hear the bone snap. Dad makes me a quick splint, then takes me back to the Impala. I get no praise for climbing the sequoia. Not that I expected any. We spend the rest of the day driving back to South Dakota.

May 10, 1991

This time, my dad has me for a week. What are we doing? Camping.

He gives me a backpack, tells me to survive for the next week. In the backpack is a box of matches, a needle, some string, a water bottle, a knife, and three granola bars. Than he leaves. I know, somehow, that I won't see him until he takes me back to South Dakota.

Day One

I get the biggest sticks I can find and lean them up against a sloped-over tree. A temporary shelter, but it should last a week. I make a small fire circle, moving leaves and grass and rocks around until I have a circle, about six feet around, lined with rocks. I build the general shape for a fire, the A-frame tent-like structure with moss balls and kindling and everything. Of course, I don't light it. The whole thing takes several hours. I devour one of my granola bars while I work. Next I set animal traps. I'm running out of food, and if I want to survive the week, I have to eat.

I don't exactly have anything to sleep in or on, and as I have no way of communicating with anyone, I gather leaves.

'Wow,' you think 'leaves? Why is the stupid, abondoned !2-year-old girl gathering leaves? What does she think that's going to do?'

I'm going to stuff part of the backpack full of leaves and use that as a pillow. Typical nights in May, in some parts of America, can get pretty cold, but I'm not exactly sure where I am. I don't have a blanket, so I'm not sure if I'm going to get cold. I'm wearing my typical clothes, jeans, a T-shirt, a plaid, and Mom's leather jacket. They sometimes stay warm, depending on the temperature.

When I'm done with everything immediately necessary, I sit in a tree near one of my traps, waiting to catch something. I sip water from my bottle to stay hydrated. I found a river earlier, so I don't have to worry about using up all my water. I can just get more from the river, boil it, etc.

A rabbit hops into one of my traps, immediately being pulled into the air it's foot. It gives a little squeak before I hurl my knife into it's skull.

"Sorry, bunny," I whisper.

I take him back to my campsite and cook him over my fire. I don't eat all of him, trying to save some for the rest of the week, but I don't know where to put the uneaten pieces.

Day 7

Finally, it's time to go home. I think I did good this week. I didn't starve, didn't dehydrate, didn't freeze to death or die of heat. I pack up all my stuff and shove it in my backpack. I find my way to a road, and I wait there until I hear the sound of the Impala's engine. I hop in the car, not saying a word to John, who just nods at me as if surprised I survived.

We drive back to Uncle Bobby's without a word spoken between the two of us.

September 18, 1996

Well, well, well. Texas. I wonder why Dad's taken me to Texas? What can I possibly learn here?

Dad takes me to a bar. I'm seventeen, couldn't possibly pass for twenty one. They won't let me in.

But of course, Dad finds a way to get me in. He takes me over to a table, orders a beer for himself and a water for me. We wait there until some of his hunter buddies come along. He teaches me poker and pool and some other games. I'm pretty good at it, and I'm super relieved. This is a good training session, not like the sequoias or anything else.

I win myself some money from the hunters. We play for hours until I've mastered every game Dad knows.