Karl (louderback) wrote in louderprose,
Karl
louderback
louderprose

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Freewriting: The cold


The cold is numbing. The wind permeates my body. The warmest clothing is as nothing against this chill. It is somehow worse because I am blind. All went white — then black— hours ago. Was it hours? How long have I really been out here? It seems like days. I have eaten three times. Is that one day? Could it not be only a matter of hours, since I crave nourishment so ardently in this Hell of ice. Is it perhaps longer? I can't trust any of my other senses, why should my perception of time be unaffected? I've been able to keep moving through sheer force of will and the reasoned conviction that if I stop I will die. I think I have been moving in a straight line. I know I have been able to follow the line of cliffs I saw when I was still able to see. I remember that they pointed as directly as I could tell toward my old encampment. The gear there could save my life. Tents, heaters, food, radio gear, and medical equipment. I will lose my toes, of a certainty, probably my feet as well. I suspect I'll lose some or all of my fingers. I hope they are functional enough to allow me to do some first aid on myself. The forecast called for -30° temperatures and 30mph winds. That means I could be experiencing effective cold of nearly -80°. The others left before me. Perhaps they made it before the snow came. Maybe they're out looking for me. Maybe the things I stumble against are huddled bodies. There is no way for me to know. I'm not certain I'll even know the camp if I ever reach it. I hear a sound! A pounding fluttering noise! It sounds like a helicopter! No. No helicopter could fly in this. More likely an avalanche. Maybe I'll be buried. It would be quick.
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