Whiteout

Sun shone off the pure-white snow at the mountain's top, making my eyes water even behind my tinted goggles.

"Don't be such a baby," Nick skied past, barely seeming to touch the snow. Backwards. Show off. "You've got this! Come on!" And he was off, all but bombing the slope.

Meh, what the Hell? I dug my poles in and followed, carving through the powder in long, gentle curves.

Coming around a corner, I threw a glance upwards, into the clear, blue sky, then back down at a mottled white-grey wall that suddenly blanketed the slopes below me. Nick whooped, vanishing completely into the cloud.

Snow flared out before as I came to a hard stop, meters from the seemingly impenetrable wall. A voice at the back of my head screamed at me, trying to convince me that this was suicide. But my Tookish spirit won out, and I turned my skis, taking the plunge.

It was dead silent in that grey-white world. Even the cold was forgotten, the only sensation the snow under my skis. Carving wide arcs through fresh powder, I brought my hand up before my face and couldn't see it. Neat.

Then I punched through into the maelstrom.

Violent winds howled, trying to force me down the mountain faster. Faster. Before my eyes was only the storm. Snow lashed my exposed skin, my eyes completely blind. A manic grin broke out across my face. The mountain was challenging me, and I wasn't about to back down.