Scribblings On Cold

"Cold," the wind bites at my face, saying again it's only word into my ear, as it tugs against my hair. It pulls it in a circle around me, trying to warm me, apologizing for leaving its Arctic regions to come and stumble upon me. After the cold kills, a profane, angst-filled pain spread through the compacity of a world, whether a small or an oversized one. It kills off the weak, those unprepared and unsuspecting and leaves the strong by their lonesome.



When I continued to ponder this fact, I knew only one thing, a single truth. I will die. Slowly, in the cold, given that no soul comes along, though I doubt anyone really would come along a barren desert of snow and ice, where no living person would have expected me to go.



There is at least three feet of snow on the ground, as I sit on my rock perch, more falling, settling into my eyelashes, white pieces framing the blue. The world around me is white against gray, and where earth and sky mingle on the horizon, you can't tell where one seems to start and the other ends. Here I am, a girl in a black coat, red hair, and lived in denim jeans; I don't belong in this world of utter purity.



I understand the meaning of timeless here, among nothing it's truly hard to believe you are something, that you had a name, that anything else had ever existed or could possibly be created. It's daunting, humbling, but not so scary as you'd believe. You feel eternal, the cold accepting you as your numbness settles into the farthest corners of your being. It only gets colder from here, and I wonder, if I truly can't feel it, maybe the numbness is a twisted blessing. The inability to move myself isn't as disconcerting as I'd believe, my legs pulled up and my body leaning onto them. I hug my torso with my arms, watching, almost as vigilant as the stones themselves, as my new white world swirls around me. I haven't had a thing to drink in days, but the thirst is hidden behind the marble cold of my lips. My brain is thoroughly confused, as loneliness changed me.



My eyes didn't see anything, couldn't, because what my brain sees there is blocking the view. I sawyou come to me, your blue eyes concerned.

"You've been here for three days," my hallucination spoke to me, no, you spoke to me, "and you aren't dead. What's wrong with you, hun? Are you a superhuman?" Your arms reach down around me and I'm unsure on if it's a hallucination anymore, because the heat radiating off of him hurt, almost burning me, as he lifted me off of my only friend, the rock.  My neck was cold where my hair had fallen away, as it swayed back and forth with your walk.

"She's so cold," he said, "what's going to happen if she's dead?"

Another blazing hand grabbed my wrist, and applied slight pressure.

"She's not dead," said a voice that seemed forever away. The heat left, and the familiar stone cold returned.



I went back to my rock in my mind, the voices fading away to murmurs in the back of my mind, the swaying becoming straight, and the only thing remaining of my day-lit dream.



My thoughts went back to what they had been doing, watching over my white, silent universe. My hallucinations kept going, remembering all of my greatest moments, my days in the sun. The warmth became closer and closer, and then a clap of thunder and my hallucinations seemed to make me fall out of the sky. My body had fallen, and I opened my eyes. I saw the interior of a car, the heat blaring in my face from the vents, and the car was moving. THere was a blanket around me, and I was on the seat, lying down across someone, my head cradled in his arms. I looked up and saw your face, as you watched me, a slight smiling expression rushed across your features, before you became serious again. Your hand went to my cheek, a placid, gentle gesture, and you said something that I didn't quite catch, before I shut my eyes. I didn't open them again.



Looking back, the moment I died, I wondered what had possessed me to wander into the deserted place, a snowy mountainside. Nothing said I couldn't go. Everyone said I couldn't stay. I went where I knew I'd be alone, unloved and useless as I was.



Now that I am dead, my words once worthless and unwanted, now are worth so much. You betrayed me, and I ran. I didn't care if I was to die, but in the irony of this all, when I did pass, I cared infinitely. I wished on that moment that I had one more chance.



I believed I was dead, until my body started to burn. I couldn't move any part of me, as all feeling rushed back.



I stayed still, barely breathing when my senses returned. When I rolled my head over, trying to think away the pain, the noise around me stopped, the noise I hadn't realized was being heard until its absense.

"Do you want to be upright?" a bodiless, faceless being asked me. I murmured a yes, and I was moved up against a warm wall.

"What do you say to us not going home?" you asked, and away we went, someplace new. That moment I realized I couldn't have died.