Fear

A knife. He took a freaking knife. Haris shook his head while panting uphill. The knife, suspended from a string on his backpack, slapped his side, spurring him on. “Who are you kidding? You buy your bread pre-sliced,” he said to himself. He did it loudly, just as the articles on hiking in the wild advised. This dark forest shaded too many rocks that looked bear-shaped. “You, poser,” he said. His voice scared a jay off a tree. Haris stopped and stared at the bouncing branch. “I’ll be all right,” he said, nodding. He traced the sheath, closing his eyes. What would it look like? Would he be fast enough? Would the bear be faster? Haris winced. He couldn’t even watch that movie where a bear was stabbed to death. He shuddered, glanced at the shimmering leaves above, and continued pushing uphill toward the blinding light. “Only a mother bear is dangerous,” he said and had to stop to catch his breath. “She’s dangerous…only when she protects her cubs.” He had researched that. The other…