The new Brian started laughing at his mistakes. He started craving meat too, and with his bow and arrow, he was able to finally eat meat. He used to eat boneless chicken from the super market, but now he had to pluck feathers, remove the skin, and cut the meat off the bone—all before cooking it.

One day he was on the far end of the L shaped lake when he saw a bird standing still. He pulled out an arrow from a sack he made from his jacket sleeve. He aimed at the bird but missed. Still, the bird didn’t even notice and he loaded another arrow. He saw feathers go in the air. It was a hit!

The bird wasn’t dead, so Brian ran to it, picked it up, and slammed it to the ground to kill it. Success! He put his hands in the water to clean the blood. Something made him turn. A smell or a sound. He didn’t know which. He saw it was a moose right before he felt the pain in his chest.

The moose slammed Brian into the water, and then followed him to finish the job. Brian had a half second to breathe air before getting thrown into the water again. “Insane,” Brian thought, “this is insane!” The moose pushed him once more, down in the mud, and mud filled his eyes, ears, and mouth.

Suddenly it was over and he felt alone. He got to the surface, gasping for breath, in a panic. The moose was eating grass, calmly. He tried to swim away but the moose saw him again and looked angry once more. It charged him and pushed him back into the water. His ribs hurt fiercly.

He got back to the surface and pretended to be dead. The moose was calmly eating once more. He waited and waited until the moose finally left. Then he slowly swam to the shore and crawled to his shelter. Luckily, the fire was still going. His chest and ribs hurt badly, but his legs were okay. Exhausted, he fell asleep.

Brian woke up to a strange noise. It was a low, powerful, roaring noise that came from the wind. His eyes snapped open, not because it was loud but because it was new. It was a strange noise. A mystery noise. A bad noise. The noise got louder and louder. It sounded like a train. He remembered something he saw on TV about a similar noise. “Oh no!” he thought. It was a tornado.

It was too late to do anything. It got louder and louder, closer and closer. He was thrown against the wall of his shelter. Soon he felt hot, and the wood from the fire was all around him. He noticed the walls of the shelter bend and then fly away. He heard a splashing noise and realized it was all gone. His fire, his tools, his shelter, his bed. Everything.

The tornado then went through the lake, sucking water up into the sky. Brian heard trees snapping, as the noise got softer and softer.

Just that day, Brian had been happy. He had food and shelter, but now he had nothing. The mosquitos came back, and he realized it was just like the first day. He had nothing—no fire, no tools, and no shelter. And he was in pain. It was like the flip of a giant coin, and he was the loser.

He looked down. His hatchet was still on his belt. He smiled as he spit out mosquitos. He still had his hatchet. And he was tougher, stronger. He kept smiling. “I’ll be OK,” he thought.

The sun came up soon after, and Brian saw something sticking up in the lake. It was a bright, unnatural color, and for a second Brian didn’t know what it was.