Geoff Stanford

Who Is Your Leader?

He awoke, face down on the ground. As he began to move, he could hear and smell the crumbled dried leaves underneath him. Kirk, making his way to his feet, could easily be mistaken for a lumber jack. In the wooded light of the full moon, you can see his broad shoulders fill the red flannel long sleeve he is wearing. His whole front side looks like he had been playing baseball and had attempted sliding into home face first except for one obvious addition. As he tries to dust himself off, he lets out a grown. A shot of pain shoots through his left shoulder. The moon light is enough to illuminate, the deep gash to the front of his shoulder with a hatchet still imbedded in it. He has no idea how that happened, nor where he even was. He had seen enough medical shows to know, he probably should keep that in place. He appeared to be just off a well-traveled path.