By Ingrid (Age 13, Hong Kong International School)
Editor's Note: This is an alternate ending to Jack London's short story, "To Build a Fire".
He wet himself halfway to the knees before he floundered out to the firm crust. Shivering, he attempted once more to build a fire, only to find that the wood he had newly gathered was damp, and sparked only faintly when a flame was held to it. Cursing, the man stamped the glowing splint into the snow. The dog whimpered, wishing more than ever that his master had turned back. It was even more deathly freezing than before, and the man's stomach growled in frustration, the biscuits not occupying its interior. Still, the man pressed on, trekking through deep snow, drawing all the strength at his disposal to will his frozen limbs to move.
It was a futile effort, the dog knew. Yet, it followed its master grudgingly as he trekked through the bitter cold. The man fought: fought to keep his heavy eyelids from dropping. Finally, when he could not fight anymore, he collapsed onto the frigid snow underneath a pine tree. His heaving breaths quickly covered his beard in a thin curtain of ice. He curled himself into a shivering ball, protecting the last slivers of warmth he held in his weakening core. What to do, he pondered. There was still a long ways to go, and in his state, traveling was not an option. The dog prodded the quivering ball with its snout. His eyelids drooping, he let go, permitting them to stay shut. His breath grew shallow; the sounds around him, of the dog and of the softly falling snow, disappearing. Finally, with a last breath, he stilled, the overwhelming wind cutting through him like an icy blade.
The blizzard grew stronger by the minute, and the dog, too, ceased to exist - his loyalty became the death of him. Snow caked onto their bodies, a heavy layer of ice, covering the evidence of the foolish pair.
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