The White Death

The sky is dark grey, with the white snow raining down. It lands on the ground, and rises up. High to the knee, which is difficult to walk on foot. The wind blows, harden soft skin beneath thick layers of clothes. The fog clouds the surrounding, only seeing the blankness and emptiness of the element. Some are foolish to challenge what’s known as the White Death.

I should know, for I was that such fool. A young buck with a chip on his shoulder. I used to laugh at the face of danger. A simple cold, it seems ridiculous to meet the White Death. But at last, it’s different. What’s seen as magestic and elegant, bears a grim and bleak reputation. A reputation I didn’t take precaution.

I was taking a stroll through a calm winter day. At first, the snow started falling slow. Ftom there, the wind starting blowing harshly. I shiver, yet I persisted there was no harm. Then the snow was growing. I can see how rapid the snowflakes was falling like shooting stars. My feet was beginning to be buried in the snow. I must make a run for it. I lived in this winter location all my life, yet the fog begin to set in. It makes the once familiar surroundings as a void. A void that I am now trapped in.

So here’s where the White Death has introduced itself to me. A figure of nature that struck me, as I freeze within snow.