A Walk in the Snow
The door opened to a frigid blast of air. The air made the air in my lungs crystallize, and the fluid in my eyes immediately began to dry. I began to bat my eyes in a desperate attempt to allow my eyes to function.
I stepped onto the porch and surveyed the crystalline blanket of snow covering the yard. After pulling my gloves up, I stepped out into the ground, enjoying the soothing crunch of the snow underfoot. It was rhythmic. It was subtle. It was expected.
I walked, enjoying the sound, to the shed at the far end of the property.
I reached out to open the door only to be disappointed. I turned back to the house, thinking I needed to wait until it was warmer. Halfway back, I noticed that there were no tracks in the snow. Frightened, I looked back. There were no tracks behind me, either.
My eyes were no longer dry. My lungs no longer ached with each breath.
As I neared the porch I saw the body. The coat the color of the ocean and the desert-colored hat were familiar. I had a dreadful feeling as I drew close enough to see the face. I screamed. I was looking at my own face, frozen in the midst of that horrible last breath.
I found quickly that I was destined to walk the snowy terrain, even though the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer to autumn back to winter.
Forever, I would trudge through the snow, never leaving tracks.