At first, it feels as if I'm drifting through an endless dream.
I remember lying in bed, needing to get up for school, pressing the snooze button just to savor another five minutes of stolen sleep.
But… where is my school?
No. That's not right. The real question is… who am I?
I know who I should be: a 21-year-old Electrical Engineering student on the cusp of graduation. I can still recall the delicate logic of circuits, the pull of electricity flowing through conductors. But everything else—my past, my home, even the shape of my own face in memory—feels like smoke slipping through my fingers.
Then something cold brushes against my eyelashes. I lift my eyes. Snow falls in silence, white flakes drifting like tiny shards of glass.
A sharp wind cuts across me. Whoosh.
My body wants to curl in on itself, but I know I cannot stop. Not yet.
I am not meant to be here. This is new. Terrifyingly new. I don't remember ever feeling snow on my skin, cold sinking into the bones like it's rooting itself inside me.
I need shelter. Soon. Five minutes, maybe ten.
First, stop shivering. Keep moving, but not so much that I sweat and freeze faster. Hands, feet—they're already numb, stubbornly refusing to obey.
Shelter. There must be something—a cluster of trees, a building, anything that can block the wind. Walls matter more than warmth right now.
Pockets. Check pockets. Scarf? Gloves? Extra layers? Nothing. Empty.
Water? Too soon. Food? Secondary. But if I'm trapped here for hours, I'll need a plan.
Time slips away. No clock, no watch—only the pale sun sliding across a frozen sky. I count, silently, obsessively, each second marking my survival. Ten minutes. After that… Plan B. Maybe a windbreak. A wall of snow. Sticks. Anything to hold heat.
I place a trembling hand over my chest. Panic presses against me like the wind itself. I cannot give in. Panic burns the body, faster than cold ever could.
Breathe. Slow. Deep.
In…hale.Ex…hale.
My ten minutes are up. I start counting again, though I don't know why. There's no plan anymore, no refuge—only the endless white stretching in every direction, unbroken, infinite.
My head feels unbearably heavy. My fingers have lost all sensation. How long have I been counting? I can't tell. It's just white. Nothing else. I should move, I should… but my thoughts are slipping away.
Dizziness swirls at the edges of my vision. Cold seeps deeper, into my bones, spreading like ink. My legs… they feel like ice. Each breath is shallow and impossible to control. My mind refuses to follow me anymore.
I need warmth. I can't… my body won't obey. Fatigue crashes over me, crushing, absolute. Just for a moment… if I could… close my eyes. Just a moment.