Mudblood Rising

For an hour I've been listening to the rush of the wind through the branches. It's been causing the canvas bag above our heads to swing back and forth like a small corpse this entire time. I can feel the dirt of the day turning to grime against the sweat of my cheek while on my right Jori is still sleeping soundly. A gust of wind draws my eyes back toward the canvas sack as its branch groans under the extra weight. All of our food sits nestled in the bottom of the sack; well out of any greedy animal's reach. I continue straining my ears for the sound of a bear's plodding feet, but am again disappointed. Instead my ears are met only by the sound of the wind. It's growing louder.
Strangely, the wind seems to be getting especially louder on my right. It's probably the sound of rain pattering on the leaves. Surely enough, before I can think to react, the first drop hits my face. I hope in vain that it will pass quickly as it steadily intensifies. My mind wrestles with the decision of whether or not to wake Jori, but as drizzle turns to downpour I know that within seconds I will no longer have a choice. The tarp on which we're lying is supposed to be wide enough to fold over as cover, so I tell Jori to hand me the opposite corner. He doesn't hear me. I raise my voice and say his name again. A lack of reaction forces me to finally yell, "JORI!"
"Hmmm..?"
"Dude, it's raining. Hand me your corner of the tarp."
"Huh?"
Frustrated, I lean toward him and say again, "It's raining. Give me the tarp!"
Jori rolls over, grabs the edge of the tarp, and rips his arm through the air back toward me. Unfortunately, my face hovers directly in the path of his elbow. Not having noticed that he may have broken my nose, Jori immediately falls back into a deep slumber. I tuck the tarp snugly under my side and lie back down. I can smell the iron-rich aroma of blood curdling in my sinuses. Soon I will feel its warmth on my upper lip. I set my head far back on the ground in the meager hope of staunching the coming flow, but to no avail; within seconds the blood is running down both sides of my face. Rainwater is forming a pool under my sleeping bag; I can feel it seeping through and onto my back. I arc my back in order to avoid its wet chill as mosquitoes flock to the wet heat now smothering my face. I'm trying to swat them away without removing the protection of the tarp, but I have to give up as this proves impossible.
Miserable. I have nowhere to go. No tent. No gauze for my nose. No mosquito repellent. I find myself staring blankly into the plastic draped over my face as if it were a starless night sky. If it weren't for the blood gushing profusely from my nose I know that I would be smelling the strong scent of dirt-stained plastic. I try to focus on something else. Anything else. But instead I keep questioning myself as to how I got stuck in this plastic bag filling with mud and my own blood.