A Good Death

This was the run where I finally got to see all of what the current sandbox has to offer, and I had the perfect ending too. The final days of my life were marked by extensive backtracking to all the different locals of the game. I'd exhausted all the supplies that the various shelters had to offer, my only rifle was drastically lowering in condition, and the beginning of the end was marked by my broken hatchet. That day, I mostly wandered around the world, looking for any stash of supplies that might lengthen my rapidly decreasing borrowed time. I found a few metal containers scattered about in various places, mostly filled with FUCKING PAINKILLERS and beef jerky. I returned to the main cabin by the lake, which was constantly hounded by wolves. I went to sleep, and the next day I ate up most of my meager food supply. As soon as I walked out of the cabin, I hear a ferocious growl. I scramble around to find my rifle. I manage to luckily pull it out. I look towards the wolf, and fire off a shot, but it misses. The bastard is on me in an instant, and my ears are ringing from the gunfire. The monster tears my flesh apart, but I beat him to death through strength of will alone. The brutality of the attack left me with a horrible thirty percent left of life. However, I do not waste the opportunity I've been given via the wolf attack, and I tear into his flesh with a hunting knife. I take five pounds of his meat, and stumble back into the cabin, staining the snow with and wood with my precious blood. I groan as I make it inside, and waste no time applying a bandage. I sleep for several hours afterwards to recover. In the morning, I cook his flesh with the last of my cedar-wood, and boil a gallon of water while I'm at it. I spend the rest of the day miserably scrounging through the west access of the river for supplies, but come up with nothing besides clothing off a stiff corpse. I then head back to the cabin with the realization that death is calling. I go to sleep with the knowledge that the next day will be my last. When I wake in the morning, I drink the rest of my water, and eat my last bits of raw wolf meat. I set out upon the lake town with the intention to find some great viewpoints before I pass. I find some nice ones by the majority of the cabins, but what those views do for me is illuminate the path ahead. As I sit upon the precipice of one of the large rocks, I see the great mountain in front of me, calling out to me. And so I depart with seventy condition left, and I'm freezing as well. But nothing defeats the cold quite like the awaking of ambition within one's soul. I spend a good portion of quickly fading life to scale the great mountain. I manage to clamber up to the highest parts, save for the peak, which I deemed inaccessible as the only way I imaged I'd reach the top was by going around the back, and the sea of unfinished purpleness told me it was not worth it. And so I found myself a prime view of the very first area I'd scavenged at the start of my two week trek through the Canadian Hell. The sight of the frozen lake and all its glory roused my spirits. I placed my bedroll down and sat upon it. The by that time, the sun was nearing the height of its rise, and was a privileged enough to see it cover the area. As my condition dips to eight percent, a fierce blizzard rolls in, telling me it's time. I took one last look at the land before the blizzard swept that away, and a lay down contently on the bedroll. I close my eyes, then I drift away into the endless night. And that marks the end of my twelve days.

Awesome

Great story, but I have one word for you:

Paragraphs.

Sounds like a very good death

Sounds interesting.