My toes are frozen. Sneakers don’t hold snow out, jeans invite it in. Wind shoots down my neck where there used to be a hood. If I get out of this, I won’t remove another hood ever again. I don’t care if it does look lame.
I don’t know how I’ll get back into the car. My fingers got numb so fast I dropped the keys before I knew I forgot to put them in my pocket. If it hadn’t gotten so damned cold in the car, I would’ve kept waiting.
Tony told me to charge the phone. Once I get out of this, he’ll just get pissed and tell me what a loser I am. Whatever. When my tongue thaws out, I’ll tell him to go to hell. Three years wasted on him. Where have I been? Ugh.
I’m blasted onto the road by a major league gust. The first pair of headlights in the past hour is coming at me. I’m not too stiff to jump out of the way. The asshole leans on his horn and keeps going. So much for looking out for others.
Disgusting. Snot is dripping so fast I can’t wipe it on my sleeve fast enough. It’s freezing over my mouth. Maybe my chin, too, but I can’t tell. It’s as numb as my cheeks and fingers. I’m tempted to take off the hat and cover my face, but I remember in elementary school how they tell you that most of your heat gets out through your hair—I mean head. Yeah, that.
I’m not sure if that’s really the road. It’s sticking up, and I’m looking at a ditch, I think. It’s hard to tell. The moon is almost full, but all the sideways snow makes it look weird. I like the glow.
Where the hell is the road? I mean, it was just there. I dig through a thin patch of snow and only find grass. Shit. I turn around and see white. Glowing freaking white. If there’s a house somewhere, I can’t see it. Go to bed Mr. Moon!
I’m so tired. I know better than to sit down, but dammit, my legs hurt. I don’t know what to do. All the TV shows have people die if they go to sleep in the cold. Not cool. No, not warm.
Hey, is that Santa’s reindeer? Wait. No. I’m not six, and it’s January.
I wonder if my cheek will fall apart if I touch it. Where’s my hand?
It can’t hurt to close my eyes. This snow pile isn’t so bad. Nice blanky.
Mama, tell me a story?
Night.
There’s a blizzard on its way, apparently. Then there’s the unbelievable cold to follow. Gee, is it any wonder I wrote this one?
Filed under: FF-Other | Tagged: blizzard, car, Flash Fiction, freaking cold, hypothermia, MJ Twain, sleepy, snow, stranded, writing
