Snippet #2327233

A twig catches on my overstuffed bag and I manage to hold in an instinctual "Shit!" Peering from over the thick brush, albeit somewhat poorly, I watch the mysterious woman sigh over her predicament. Have I seen here before? The thought runs through my head, but I've never cared for other people before, well, not unless they had TAG. It took me a month to remember Jon's name, but enough of that.

Creeping loudly and in a terribly unsubtle manner through the gnarled plants, I keep assuring myself that I couldn't be seen by that person. My respect and confidence in other human beings has gone down, yes, but after what I've seen, your expectations would drop too.

Suddenly, a sharp blackberry bush finds itself into my pants leg, and I let out a very unrefined, "Son of A Bitch!" Standing now, like a deer in headlights, I stare right at the woman, now staring awkwardly at me. Aw crap. C'mon Dan, don't freak out now. You've got a damn shotgun in your pouch, what do you have to fear? Wait... Is it loaded? Shit, I don't remember. Did I pack my knife? She doesn't look like she has TAG... I continue to freak out, physically moving my hands about my face in confused positions to think better; it must have been quite a sight to see.

I manage to snap myself out of it, and attempt to pull out my black weapon from my bag in a badass manner to scare her off. But the gun gets caught on the zipper and, well, you can guess how this ends up. In the end I somehow end up with my butt a good foot higher than my head, my head stuck in a pile of prickly brambles, and my gun more closer to the woman than myself.

Last resort: Communication.

"Uh... Hello there. Nice weather today ey?"