jelliebeers

I love the snow.

When I was little, I would play a morbid game were I would pretend that I was a traveler on an expedition in Antarctica or Alaska…. Or whatever.

I would go into the backyard and trudge through the pristine, dense, knee high snow. My steps were exaggerated as I faked an epic struggle. I would grunt and breath deeply and pretend that I could no longer go on.

All my supplies where gone and rest of my troupe… Dead. I had failed. It had been days since I’d had my last meal.

I would pretend that the shed was my final destination. Just as I started to reach it, I would fall the my knees and start crawling.

So this was the end, huh.

It was so quite on what I would imagine was a vast, empty field of whiteness. So quite, I could hear the snow falling.

I would get very still and then suddenly… I would collapse and lay motionless in the snow. What a tragedy, I was nearly there.

My pretend life flashed before my eyes as I lay lifeless in the cold. I would loving think of my wife and kids (because I imagined my self as an older, scruffy man). Was anyone going to find me after I turned into a solid block of ice?

I would listen to the snow and lay there until I had accumulated a white film. I would remain that way until I got too cold.