We sat by the fire, everyone planning ways to change their lives. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d planned such things, but I could count the number of times I’d succeeded. I drifted away, followed what looked like a path into the forest. The glow of the fire grew small, the voices scattered. I climbed a tree, just for the hell of it. I sat on a branch, too small for a man my size. As I looked up into the majestic whorls of stars in the sky, I dropped my last cigarette. You’re stranded, an owl cooed.

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Grant Faulkner is the executive editor of the Office of Letters and Light, which puts on National Novel Writing Month, and the founder and editor of 100 Word Story (www.100wordstory.org). He’s published pieces in The Southwest Review, Poets & Writers, The Rumpus, Gargoyle, The Berkeley Fiction Review, and Word Riot, among others.

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