Creative Writing: The US Park Service

I told myself it was chicken. I grabbed it and held it up to my mouth. Squeezing my eyes shut, I sunk my teeth into it. Blood dripped down the sides of my mouth. Dreading it, I choked it done as fast as I could, every bite like ash in my mouth.
When I was younger I loved to play hide and seek with him and we would pretend we were animals. He was the brother bear who protected me. To outsiders, we chased each other around a tiny backyard, barely large enough for us to run free, but we saw it as a magnificent forest. Anything and everything was possible and carefree when I was with him.
“Let’s try calling the US Park Service one more time,” I begged. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number. Immediately: nothing.
“It’s no use; there’s no
We already talked about this; that’s our last resort. I still have hope that either someone will find us or we will find food. We’re fine.” I pretended I was okay, but I knew my eyes gave it away. It was supposed to be just a week long backpacking adventure; we were excited and ready, just the two of us.
“C’mon let’s go find some berries to fulfill our grizzly bear diet!” he said winking at me. He took his blue pocket knife pretending to cut through the tree branches and leaves that stood in our way. Mom used to hide little bowls of berries throughout the backyard and make us hunt for them, as if we were really in the forest, scavenging for berries together.
My brother was always prepared, the only boy scout in our family. He thought he had planned enough for our trip, but this time it wasn’t enough. We walked around the park for what felt like years looking for help, yet still no one was to be found. After a week of wandering, lost and hopeless, we found a little puddle of water to quench our thirst, just enough to last us a couple weeks. He told me we could survive on the water for some time, but eventually we would have to eat something to satisfy our hunger. Everyday my stomach growled, like a little monster trying to get
The warm sun glimmered and rays of light radiated in every direction. I looked at him and watched. The sun reflecting on his pale white skin, curly brown hair flung all over the place, and dirt covering his hands and face.
I couldn’t help but smile for the the first time since becoming lost. The cold dry air brought me back to reality. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach when I realized that I had left him alone. It was a mistake to split up. Running as fast as my weak wobbly legs could carry me, I sprinted back to find him.
“No. No! NO!” I screamed. His once blue pocket knife painted with syrupy red blood. There, on the cold dirt ground laid my brother. Covered in red blood, his face flushed and eyes closed. A long, deep, red line traced along his forearm, wrist to elbow. Blood everywhere, draining out of his body. Pale skin now bleach white. I knew what he wanted me to do, but I couldn’t even imagine the idea. It was my fault. I should have known he would sacrifice himself for me.
I could hear his voice in my head whispering softly into my ear, “Just do it … do it for me.” Do it, Do it, Do it. His voice echoed through my head and I needed it to stop. It pained me as I bit into his body, finger by finger, limb by