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Day 1: Day one of my 30-day forest fast begins. Let this be a record if anything goes wrong.

The 5-day hike in was sublime. Neighbours won’t be heard for miles. More cabin moths this year. Down with corporate consumerist Christmas. Let me be one less mouth to feed over the silly season. My new emergency radio ought to help me get out of here. Wish me luck.

Day 4: I should have told someone I was here. There’s no food left in last season’s cabin.

The nearby spring should prove handy. Can’t find the peak through the constant fog.

Day 8: I’m so hungry I could eat the leather off the door handles. Last year’s fast wasn’t this hard. I made it to day 28 without a sweat. Something doesn’t feel right. Like moths to a flame.

Day 11: Phone died from daily clock check. Watch stopped working after I passed through the fog. Haven’t heard another voice in over a week, feels like years. Moths flock to the whites of my eyes. My beard seemed to get longer overnight, must be the fast tightening my skin. My backup radio should help if things deteriorate further.

Day 17: My tongue feels so dry. Water here tastes different. Kind of metallic, runoff from the mine. Time has stopped since my clocks gave out. Daylight lasts forever before night falls a new eternity. Keep needing to pee, just sit there for hours not doing much. Life’s slowing down. Beard grows on.

Day 29: I cheated. I ate three moths. Tongue changed colour and enlarged. Tastes good to start with. I broke out the emergency radio but had left the instructions at home. I just get white noise here. A pixelated screen just circles itself like an ouroboros saying ‘Waiting to Connect’. No net for days.

Day 62: The months taste great as the moths fly by. They’re attracted to light; they’re pulled to me. Radio’s broke, never worked. Phone’s dead. Watch is stuck. Weather got worse. New campers could arrive next season. No longer hungry. Can’t swallow. Choked by moth dust.

Day 81: Found phone charger. Hotspot phone to radio. Updated. Got signal. Tongue too big. Need help. Tired moths go by. No happy campers. Radio SOS sent. Could they beat fog? Fast slowing down. Miss family presents. Need real food. Door handles yuck. Can they make it up?

So, they say ‘The diary was found next to a pile of moths’.

‘The Page Moth’ went on to become a #1 Christmas Best Seller.

(Artwork assisted by AI, Powered by Midjourney Nov ’22 Image rights belong to me

Prompt: log cabin with flying moths and one diary:: --ar 3:2 --test)

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