The Day I Died

-Zack Griddov-


By Mike Reutov

 “C’mon son, pick up your ax. Do not slack off during morning hours.” Zack awoke from his daydream by his father’s voice.

“Sorry pops, kind of dozed off there for a bit.” He picked up his ax and swung at the tree.

“Thinking about your girlfriend again, huh?” His father said. Zack smiled and swung again. Splinters shattered from the tip off his ax as it dug into the tree. He swung again. Realizing he forgot safety goggles, a big peace of bark flew right into Zack’s eyes. He dropped the ax and howled in pain, putting his hands against the splinter. He noticed it was at least an inch into his iris. He grabbed the piece and yanked it out. He screamed again, his voice slowly became quiet and his throat dried out.  He looked back at his hands and starred at the blood that trekked around his right index finger.

“Hold on son, stay still.” His father told him. He examined it and said, “We need to go home so we can patch it up.” He took his arm and slowly lifted him. They took a couple steps forward and then they sped up and began to walk.  Their working zone was about a mile away from their house. The best trees were deep into the forest and the family made good money from them.

The snow was deep and their boots were full of icy snow. It was the end of winter so the weather was a bit chilly as it usually was. They walked until his father stopped and looked around. “Wait here Zack. I think I hear other workers, I’ll be right back.” He let go of him and Zack wanted to tell him to wait, but nothing came out.

Zack’s energy was running out and he sat down, watching his father with blurry eyes, only to see a figure fade away into the forest. He opened his mouth trying to call him, but nothing came out but a groan. Zack shifted onto his back and looked up into the sky. Something lightly touched his face and noticed that it started to snow. Fear ran through Zack, he knew he will be lost if his father’s tracks disappeared. The forest was a maze that only his father barely understood.

Out of energy, Zack slowly closed his eyes, too tired to get up or cry for help. “Dad” he tried to say but nothing still came out.


Zack awoke by a loud noise. The noise ricocheted throughout the forest and so he had no idea where it came from. His hands were numb and he barely got up. The snow was whiter. Fresher. Higher. The tracks were gone, he was alone. His father wasn’t back. “The snow must have carried him off the path.” Zack thought.  The noise again repelled through the forest trees. He now knew what was causing more fear to rise through his body; grey wolves. There are rare around these parts but that didn’t mean there weren’t any scavenging for food. Zack touched his left eye. It was swollen but it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

Zack knew it was still morning because the sun was rising and the weather was warmer in the mid-days. Another howl bellowed through the snowy forest and Zack turned and ran the other way. He only understood the maze of the forest that was by his house. All he needed was a familiar path, or tree, or something and he would be safe. Gray figures flashed off the corner of his good eye and he turned around. Nothing.

He turned and instantly crashed to the ground, claws piercing his back; the wolves have caught up. He shook the beast off and ran full speed and tripped by the fresh snow.

The wolves surrounded him and he counted five total. He looked down at his snow-pants and noticed that he had a knife with him. Its blade wasn’t very long; it had a curved point and the razor sharp edge that was used to cut off unwanted twigs off logs.

The wolves growled at him showing off yellow, sharp teeth. He unsheathed the knife, the sun gleaming at his reflection. Even though his vision made it hard to tell where exactly they stood, he could still see figures lurking around him. More fear rose but he slowly breathed and said, “This is it… this is how I die.” He closed his eyes and in his head he said goodbye to the world. He slowly put his feet under him and rose to face the animals, he lifted his hand and they pounced.

One by one the wolves clawed at him and he swung for his dear life. Blood covered the snow and the mouths of some wolves. After minutes of fighting, Zack slowly dropped to his knees, slowly dying and bleeding out. The last bite grasped his neck and he collapsed onto the snow, dropping the knife.

His heart slowly stopped beating; the wolves slowly ripped him apart, and he slowly closed his eyes, losing his strength. The life of Zack Griddov has ended.


He was never found; he was rather slowly eaten and/or decayed. Now people say they heard cries of help in the cold wind of the forest but the source was never found. Hikers told stories of how they saw spirits appear and disappear. People didn’t know that it was the boy who got lost and gave his soul to the forest.

His spirit lurches in the white mists in winter and gray fogs of summer; still looking for a path, still looking for… home.

One Response to Mike

  1. Xander says:

    Sheesh, ur stury iz soooo sadz. D: Sad kitteh iz sad. 🙁

    When your story began, I thought that Jack would die in some convoluted way involving some form of a trap created with springs and various axes wedged in strategic places, but it seems I was wrong. You decided to go for a a clean and simple death; ravaged by wolves. Admittedly, the splinter incident was a bit convoluted, considering the fact of how rare that occurrence would be, but I suppose that it needed to happen for your story to take place.

    I felt that the father should have reentered the story at some point, maybe right before Zack dies, because a father would not just leave his son in the woods to die. Especially not if he said that he was going to get help. Of course, perhaps his father understood that with only one eye, Zack would have a skewed sense of perception, and might not be as good of a lumberjack. I suppose that he felt vindicated in his decision to abandon his slightly injured son to the wolves.

    Overall, this story is very good. Very good grammar, great word choice, and a good topic. Death by wolves is rare, and should be used more often in murder stories. People are starting to believe that wolves are not evil beasts hellbent on destroying humanity, one throat at a time. We must not let that happen.

    I am Alex Konev, and I approve of this message.

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