I’m conscious for all of it. The initial fall, the snow heaving down in a torrent of violence - smashing my body around without a care. It isn’t pitch black as I'd always imagined it would be. My eyes adjust to see a blue tinged light, while I hear my own panting in the cochlea of my ear.
Screaming, the noise remains planted around my face. The air is already beginning to feel hot, despite the snow that encapsulates me.
“I’m here, I’m here!” the words sputter from my burning lips.
Heavy breathing remains the only sound. My arms and legs are restrained as though I’m a person who can’t be trusted to not hurt themselves or others. As helpless as a turtle on its back in the frying sun.
The pulse of my body aches for fresh air, while my desperate breaths suck the satisfaction out of what’s left. I choose to scream with the remnants of oxygen, as silence would only ensure death.
“Here! Here! Here! Here!”
Particles of light beyond my snowy grave began to twinkle. This must be it; this is how it ends. An image of my frozen body being discovered enters my mind.
“I’m sorry god, please forgive me,” I whisper, just in case it turns out to be true.
Claws of fingers pull the snow from my eyes. The sky never looked so blue.
“Don’t worry buddy, we’re here. We’re here now,” neon red sleeves come and go as he digs me out.
About the Creator
Kendra Marya
Campervan living Canadian with a penchant for psychological thrills and cats.
B.A. Communication & Philosophy
Keep reading
More stories from Kendra Marya and writers in Fiction and other communities.
A Strange Mysterious Package, Indeed!
You’re a thirty-three-year-old woman named Breanne, still living in the home you grew up in. Not in a cute hallmark way. But in a way that says, ‘I went to university, and it took me six years to graduate because I couldn’t decide on a major, and now I make $50k working as a graphic designer and can’t afford to live on my own in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) or pay back my student loans.’
By Kendra Maryaabout a year ago in Fiction
Perfect Little Pirate
The rough, sodden rope bit into her fingers as she swung over the roiling water far below. Reaching out with the toe of her boot, she managed to catch hold of the rain-soaked railing of the ship- and promptly slipped. Throwing herself forward, she landed hard on the deck, slamming her elbows against the wood planks. The sharp yelp of pain quickly bubbled into a laugh, and she rolled onto her back, laughing up at the gray sky as a torrent of rain washed away the soot covering her skin.
By M. A. Mehan 4 days ago in Fiction
Journey Back by Staright
In the muddy trenches of France, 1918, Lance Corporal Horace Yule felt an unsettling weight on his boots. It wasn't just the cloying mud but also the dried blood of another soldier. Despite his best efforts, the stains resisted his attempts to remove them. A plump rat darted past him, sending shivers down his spine. These discomforts, however, were trivial compared to the impending danger. Nightfall was approaching, and soon Horace and his comrades would venture into no-man's land to raid the German trenches.
By Arshad Mecci4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.