“No- What am I saying? I can’t eat Seymour!”, I said. If I did, I don’t think I could get along without the company. Besides- I have no idea how to cut up a chicken.

“ARRRGG! this is so frustrating!!!!”, I said and threw the hatchet at the wall of my “house”. A million tiny sparks flew off the rock and onto a small patch of dry weeds. A small fire started, and I nearly yelled with excitement. I ran outside to get sticks and logs to put on it, and carefully fed my fire.

I had noticed a small clear pond in the woods while I was looking for firewood, so I went back to see if there were any fish in there that I could eat. I didn’t see any, but there was a lot of seaweed-looking stuff, so I sighed and took some back to my fire. I found 3 flat rocks and made some sort of a platform with them over the fire, and put the seaweed on top. It didn’t look too appetizing…

Just then, I looked up and Seymour walked in. He looked curiously at the fire. “Man, this is worse than Curious George!”, I thought. I grabbed him, held him tight in my lap and prayed. “God, get us out of here. Please!”