A tired old sea captain trudged through the cold Siberian Tundra. His beard was frozen stiff, and it was so cold that if he so much as touched it, a small grey piece would snap off. His weathered brown backpack, like always, was slung on his back, with maps of all sorts ticking out at odd angles. He had walked many weary miles since his well-used river raft had crashed into a wall of jagged rocks. With his raft broken into millions of pieces, floating down the river, he only had what was on him: his trusty, yet worn, old backpack. It was filled with everything imaginable. There were maps of every continent, a small foldable sleeping bag that size of an apple, and even a piece of gum, that was who knows how old, seeing as the only gum he had now was those that used to be attached to his yellowing teeth.
As he kept walking forward, he remembered his glory days when he used to be the most terrifying river pirate that ever lived, even more so than those sailing down the Saskatoon river. He had looted ships of all sorts; party ships, yachts, sail boats, and even a paddle boat here and there. He usually got surrounded by the river guard, but at least he got the thrills that he sought. But that had all ended when he was so old and wrinkled that he could barely get down the steps leading to the shoreline. This trip was supposed to re-open that glorious chapter of his life, but that wasn’t about to happen, now that he didn’t have a boat. The cold and the harsh wind that cut like daggers brought him back to reality, where he could see that the sun was beginning to set over the empty and snowy white horizon. If he wasn’t so cold he would have realized how beautiful it all looked, but he had his priorities in order. The most important thing now was to find a tree, rock, cave, anything to keep the wind from ripping him apart while he slept. His only choice was to go forward; there was nothing for him behind.
Finally he came upon a small gently sloping valley that had a tiny little shrub. It looked like enough protection, even though its branches were bare and it only stood about a foot tall.
He bent down to unroll his sleeping bag, and you could almost hear the creaking of his tired joints. Snuggled up in his thin sleeping bag, he pitifully pulled out his piece of gum. As he took the spearmint gum out of its silver wrapper, it shattered from the cold. He had nothing to eat. As the hours of the night dragged on, and the cold increased little by little, the tired old sea captain fell into a deep sleep, the kind which you are very well rested, but from which you never awake.