Close Call

Red raw and bloody. Ice tightened its grip around human fish fingers. Blood trickled down fingernails before hardening. Whistling in the frozen air, a kettle calling out however there is no one there to listen. The storm rages on, covering the earth in a white blanket. Nothing could have survived that…

Like a popped tyre, the snow shifted. With ounces of energy, that frigid piece of flesh rose to the surface. Redder than the parted sea. swollen fingers, hands gripped onto the ice.

A scream of agony echoed. Howling winds causing the trees to vibrate. Blood poured, a pool of red rising as it spreads and mingles within the snow.

With power and strength, the voice pulled them up, struggling to breathe. Bruised, beaten, but not quite a corpse, they lay on mounds of snow, bloody and fatigued. One wrong move, the pipes could burst if they’re not careful. It’s difficult to fix when there is only a whisper for company.

The cold took its toll. Frozen, lying there helpless. With their heartbeat pumping slower, their lungs struggling to hold on, there was no hope left in this barren wasteland. In a world of inhospitable bleakness, there seems no point to hurry along, the days so long, eyes feeling tired and weary, a feeling to be shut off, seems the best thing for this stranger.

When the glowing whiteness turned dark, there seemed no hope to live. A large something, drags them from the bone chilling tempest that blisters on.