Cold. It's all he can feel. His hands, like a metal claw, grabs onto the ice pick. His feet, slowly making their way towards the top. He tries to breathe in air, but finds frosted needles. His lungs like the four seasons, summer soon followed by winter. His body detested him and vise versa. He curses silently - is this the end for him? Another stab into the sheet of ice with his foot, it's loose! He hangs for a moment. He looks down, the loose ice sheet free from it's siblings - falling into the dark clouds below. He has to live on! He readjusts himself into a safer position. He takes a breather. His eyes, heavy from lack of sleep, his muscles wept from the intensity. He reaches into is jacket - a picture of his family. A warm feeling comes through wave after wave - he feels stronger now. He pulls out the ice pick and stabs it in once more - somethings not right, the ice cracks. He falls.
His muscles flinched, they panicked at the thought of free fall. His bladder, at its limit. His eyes almost unable to stay in his eye sockets. His stomach rises up to his lungs. He screams as he descends. "This is surely the end," he says to himself, "Wife, kids, world, I wish I were kinder to you all." A ray of light pierces the thick dark fog that is the uncomfortable, empty bed. His screams stop, he has accepted his defeat. All he awaits now is death. He expected it to be shorter, but these last moments of his life seemed very long. What's this? A hand reaches through the dark fog. He strains himself to reach it. He is so close, just an inch away. Half an inch, quarter. Contact!
He opens his eyes to see he solid ice sheet sliding in front of him, is he soaring upwards? No. He looks left, a static image, right, the same. He regains some sensation in his metal claw, what's this? A tight grip. He looks up to see a friendly face, his saviour, smiling down at him.
Thanks friend.
