The Sacrifice

The full moon dons and illuminates the cold frosty ground. Every step that I make crunches and I see my footprints clearly in the grass. With every breath I draw I can see the vapor form. The cuts from my wrist bleed onto the ground and make a vibrant red impression in the frost.

Wind starts to pick up a bit, but everything is frozen so nothing moves; all that remains is just a chill in the air. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and my outfit is no longer suitable for the cold. The blood keeps dripping and I just feel a sharp pain, most likely due to the temperature change.

I feel the world around me and it feels cold, harsh, and cruel. I reach deep into the Earth and pull everyone's emotions. I feel their suffering, their pain, and their tears. The cut starts to sting even more. I fall to the ground,weakened.

I begin to cry, not because the end is near for me, but because I feel everyone's pain; I've never felt such intense emotion before. The blood drips from my wrist and covers my hand entirely. I manage to get up using a nearby post to hoist myself up. I leave a giant bloody handprint on it.

The handprint is vibrant red combined with the pureness of the snow. My hand starts to feel numb, as does the rest of my left arm. I continue to walk but with every step that I take it gets harder and harder to see. The wind starts to pick up even more, forcing the snow to pick up and create a flurry.

I try to turn back, but my vision is so obscured by the snow that it's hard to tell what direction I'm going. I try and find my footprints in the snow, but the wind is making it close to impossible. I realize that I must find shelter. Often times whenever someone attempts suicide, they change their minds before it's too late.

My mind isn't entirely made up whether or not I wish to die or not, but as of right now, I know this is not how I want to go. I start to be able to make out a small cabin in the distance and I make my way towards it. Every step that I take gets more difficult and my vision gets blurry; I'm not sure if it has to do with the weather or if the wound is finally doing its job.

Once I reach the cabin, I open the door and the wind slams it shut behind me. Thinking about it, it did seem quite odd; the wind should have kept it open based on the direction of the wind and how the door opened. I don't stop to ponder for more than a minute or two as I discover that the cabin has a fireplace with logs and kindling already present. It doesn't take more than ten seconds to light, which I am thankful for. I'm not sure how I'm able to function with my arms so numb.

The fire does its job and warms me up rather quick. Then I shift my focus on staying alive. I go to the bathroom and it has a first-aid kit. I open it up and suture my wrist. The pain is excruciating. After, I go through my mental check-list and realize I need to eat. Upon inspecting the contents of the kitchen, there are grapes, cheese, chicken, and a giant bottle of Merlot, a pairing almost too perfect.

I pour the largest glass of wine and chug it. Then I pour another as I heat up the chicken. I find my way so easily in the kitchen, almost like I've been here before. After piling my plate up I take it and the glass of wine to the fireplace so I can eat and drink in front of it. It is the most exquisite meal that I have ever ingested. With the added warmth, it is almost like a dream. I begin to nod off, which part of me is frightened to do, as I'm worried about my amateur surgeon attempt but another part of me is so exhausted that I don't care.

When I wake up, the fire is extinguished and the cabin has a much different feel to it—not to mention that I no longer feel the pain on my wrist. When I first walked in, it felt so inviting, so homey; now it has an uneasy feel to it. I decide to go to the bathroom to clear my head. A shower? Just simply splashing hot water on my face? Anything, something, to wash away the uneasy drowsiness. Once I get there I reach for the sink only to find that I can't interact with the faucet whatsoever. I reach for the door handle and discover that I can't interact with the knob either.

I start to think about how convenient the cabin was and how the food was just there. It was most definitely a trap. I look in the mirror and one of me dons the widest grin, but I know that the real me is frowning. I see it just walk off, and once it leaves the cabin, I am free to roam around the house. I go to the window and observe that not only has the wind ceased, but the bloody handprint on the post is visible. I can barely make it out. I grab a pair of binoculars that are nearby and look closely at the handprint; it's not a human handprint anymore. It looks twisted and dark and looks like it has long claws.

All I feel is sadness and I start to cry. I go to the bathroom and lock myself in with a knife. After three deep cuts, I lean on the base of the sink and start to feel drowsy. Then, someone enters the cabin and it isn't until they start the fire that I awaken. Just then, I have the feeling like I want to go out for a walk. I am able to interact with my surrounding objects and I open the door and stumble outside.

The full moon dons and illuminates the cold frosty ground...