From to build a fire (fiction)

by jack london

the fire was a success. he was safe. he remembered the advice of the old-timer on

sulphur creek, and smiled. the old-timer had been very serious in laying down the law

that no man must travel alone in the klondike after fifty below. well, here he was; he

had had the accident; he was alone; and he had saved himself. those old-timers were

rather womanish, some of them, he thought. all a man had to do was to keep his head,

and he was all right. any man who was a man could travel alone. but it was

surprising, the rapidity with which his cheeks and nose were freezing. and he had not

thought his fingers could go lifeless in so short a time. lifeless they were, for he could

scarcely make them move together to grip a twig, and they seemed remote from his

body and from him. when he touched a twig, he had to look and see whether or not he

had hold of it. the wires were pretty well down between him and his finger-ends.

all of which counted for little. there was the fire, snapping and crackling and

promising life with every dancing flame. he started to untie his moccasins. they were

coated with ice; the thick german socks were like sheaths of iron halfway to the knees;

and the moccasin strings were like rods of steel all twisted and knotted as if by fire. for

a moment he tugged with his numb fingers, then, realizing the folly of it, he drew his

sheath knife.

but before he could cut the strings, it happened. it was his own fault or, rather,

his mistake. he should not have built the fire under the spruce tree. he should have

built it in the open. but it had been easier to pull the twigs from the brush and drop

them directly on the fire. now the tree under which he had done this carried a weight

of snow on its boughs. no wind had blown for weeks, and each bough was fully

freighted. each time he had pulled a twig he had given a slight agitation to the tree

–an agitation scarcely noticeable, so far as he was concerned, but an agitation sufficient

to bring about the disaster. high up in the tree one bough capsized it load of snow.

this fell on the boughs beneath, capsizing them. this process continued, spreading out

and involving the whole tree. it grew like an avalanche, and it descended without

warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was blotted out!

the man was shocked. it was as though he had just heard his own sentence of

death. for a moment he sat and stared at the spot where the fire had been. then he

grew very calm. perhaps the old-timer on sulphur creek was right. no man should

travel alone in the klondike after fifty below. if he had only had a trail mate he would

have been in no danger now. the trail mate could have built the fire. well, it was up to

him to build the fire over again, and this second time there must be no failure. even if

he succeeded, he would most likely lose some toes. his feet must be badly frozen by

now, and there would be some time before the second fire was ready. find the metephores and similes