Personal Narrative: My 17th Log Date

“Log number 17: We have been lost for 10 weeks in this tundra, if anyone is hearing this then we are alive and I published this with my other log dates,” I chattered, while writing. “ What are you talking about?” questioned my pal Tom, but he goes by SANS. I replied with, “ I’m writing my 17th log date, you know I talk to myself when I write.”

I have made 16 other log entries and he still questions me about this. But my cousin Sunnshine, my friend SANS (Tom), and I have been stuck in this stupid tundra in the middle of Greenland for 10 weeks, with limited food, freezing temperatures, and the University (the building we work for) completely forgot about us, go figure. Then, it’s just my luck, a blizzard whips up and I, oh so angrily shout,

I know we’re in an Arctic Tundra, but there were WAY too many musk ox to be natural. At this point in time, we have seen about 60 of the things, and they are a main prey item, so either, all the large predators were hunted to extinction by the natives we came here to study, (along with the nature here) or the musk ox was VERY over bred, to the point where if a couple hundred were killed off for food or their hide, it wouldn’t matter because there are way too many! “Why did we think that wasn’t a musk ox?” asked Sunnshine, “ Do these people even exist?!” I know the University wouldn’t send us on a wild goose chase, would they? Would we die out here? Will we survive this blizzard? Will we leave here sain, or will we leave at all?! Then, SANS blurted out the best idea he had the entire time we have been here, “ I have a knife, Braeden has a gun, Sunnshine has matches, there are pine trees around, and there is a meaty cow with hide we can make coats out of. You get what I’m

SANS pulled out his knife, and the cousin went to snap some branches off a nearby evergreen. *POW* Went my gun as I fired, I misted the ox but I did startle it, making it mindlessly charge us. When it got close to SANS, he grabbed it by the horns, getting on it’s back, STABBING IT BY NECK LIKE OUR LIVES DEPENDED ON IT, which, quite frankly, it did. It wasn’t doing much, sense all it was is a small pocket knife, so it wouldn’t do much. Next thing I know *POW* I with little control, shot the wild beast in the head. It was for our own survival, so, I didn’t feel to terrible. So after a while, we set up a fire, skinned the beast, cut the bones clean, and CUT IT’S HEAD OFF FOR A TROPHY. Since I was carrying all of SANS’s and my stuff (that didn’t fit in our pocket) in my bag, and Sunnshine was carrying the firewood on her back, so SANS tied my trophy to his back with some spare rope we