Return.

The forest at night is deep, dark, and dreary. Distant from humans and civilization lies definition of death. Silence. Solitude. Solace. Splendor.
       The canopy is a cornucopia of leaves, branches, and wreckage of lost company. Trunks are merely the mundane hallways leading to nowhere but another corridor. An endless cavern of continuous searching for life. Rushing through the labyrinth is the first mistake. Not looking forward is the second. Looking back is the third. And finally, searching for life is the last. Waving your defenseless flag at full mast. Yelling for someone to hear you, fear hits you fast. Looking back in terror. Staring at the ground, you could've seen the exit, but you passed. Running in circles because one foot is larger than the other, should've kept your eyes on the most distant object. Your equation isn't solved yet.
       Keep hyperventilating. You're only feeding the plant life surrounding. For miles, your heart is the only one pounding.
       Tripping, stumbling, sweat dripping, mumbling.
      
       Guard rail.

       End of the trail.

       The highway in front of you. Cars passing by at great speeds. Loud music. Cigarette butts flying out of cracked automatic windows. The smell of carbon monoxide, burning rubbing, leaking radiator fluid, asphalt cooling after a long summer day, decaying flesh of the raccoon that was struck. Getting too close to the road, covered in scrapes, cuts, bruises, tears, tree sap, someone honks their horn, swerves, and screams inaudible curses.
 
       You turn back

       Step over the guard rail

       And return to the wild with a greater knowledge.