I was laying in a bed, a real bed, not the standard-issued cot we had in our cabins. I had just awoken, a miserable, snotty wretch. What I’d give to be anywhere else. Back at school even. Away from all this crap. Yet here I was, still at Camp Prison-Shit. How long had I been out, I did not know.
“What am I doing here?” Why was I still at camp, I wanted to know. Continue reading
Lucas walked purposely thorough the brush, about 20 feet ahead. It was pitch dark and ridiculously late, and I could barely make out his outline in the dim moonlight. Luckily, he moved neither too fast, nor too slow. Rather, his pace was measured and deliberate, so as to give yours truly a chance to catch up. After all, I didn’t know these woods as well as he and I certainly wasn’t as attuned to my surroundings. Continue reading
Part 3 of Camp Life (Warning: Explicit Language) All points lead to hell and there’s no escape, that’s for sure. And it’s especially true of my time at Camp Prison-Shit, because, dammit, we were in wild country, where anything can … Continue reading
If you were to ask me to pinpoint the moment I realized camp was hell, I couldn’t say. From the outset, I knew this camp would be different. It was for city kids who’d never really experienced the outdoors before. I’d seen an ad for the camp on TV and thought it looked like immense fun, but what did I know? The commercial depicted scenes of gleeful children splashing around in a lake, and taking part in potato sack races and sing-alongs around the campfire. What lucky kids, I had thought at the time. Continue reading
Don’t know how I survived Camp Prison-Shit. If not for Jon and his dog, Lucas, I’d have been dead. Of course, slipping into a coma helped.
Now, Camp Prison-Shit wasn’t its real name, not by any means. But it might as well have been, for the sleepaway camp was a magnet for misfits, losers, miscreants, wise guys and clowns. I’m still trying to figure out which category I fit in. Continue reading
Monica's Tangled Web 