Swamp

The early morning fog hung heavy over the swampy water, making the air thick and cool. The sun was barely peeking in over the tree line, but there was just enough light to be able to see clearly, even with the fog. It helped that there wasn't much to see. Mark stood on the end of the pier, looking across the pond at the house he had built a few years prior - it wasn't the most impressive home, clearly being built out of old wood and scrap roof tilings, but it stood up well and kept him warm at night, so he couldn't really complain. It even managed to keep the stink out, as long as he didn't leave the windows or door open in the summer time.

He didn't exactly build the safest path from the pier to his house, on the other hand. It was a series of poles he had dug into the dirt far below the water's surface, sticking out so that he could leap across them from one side to the other. Anyone else would probably never be able to make it across - which, admittedly, was kind of the point - but he had once been a gymnast, in years past. He was small and lightweight, but strong and fast. He had the control and precision to jump from one peg to another consistently and without trouble.

He adjusted the backpack he was wearing to be more comfortable on his shoulders before pulling the hoodie of his jacket over his head. He needed to get some supplies for the week, which meant heading out of the relative safety of his home. He had been able to make a makeshift garden, but it needed to be on the further edge of the swamp in order to have any usable soil to grow anything in. Then he would need to do some hunting, which wouldn't be too hard with the pistol he had tucked into the side of his pants.

He only had to leave the swamp itself every few months, when he ran out of ammo. He was able to make his own, but gunpowder didn't last forever, and he could only reuse certain parts so many times before they simply weren't of any use anymore. Aside from that, he had learned to be entirely self sufficient in the swamp.

Most people wouldn't be content with a life like the one he lead. But he was. He was happier than he had ever been among people, though he couldn't quite explain why. He just knew that he was, and every day he was thankful for his swamp.