It’s not as bad as I thought. I’m not being crushed by the snow, and there’s just enough space for me to breathe. Not even the cold was a problem anymore. I just had to deal with the numbness. The worst thing about this was the feeling of being trapped, knowing that this is the end. That’s the worst part. It’s true what they say about seeing your life flash before your eyes or whatever. I can’t stop thinking about how I’m going to die. It won’t matter for much longer but it feels like I’m going crazy.
I didn’t really accomplish much in my life, huh. Thinking about all my experiences like this and not once have I done anything that truly made me feel proud. Twenty years goes by fast. And looking back I wasted so much time. But you know, that’s not why it hurts so much. What hurts more is knowing that I won’t ever live up to the expectations my mom had for me. It’s weird thinking about that now. I don’t take back anything I said to her the last time we spoke. Then why can’t I stop crying?
I start getting sleepy. This must be it. My mind is getting hazier and hazier. Yet there are clear thoughts that drift in and out, not giving me a break. Wasn’t this supposed to be peaceful?. I wish I never came to this mountain. I wish I never lied to my friends about where I was headed. I wish I told my mom…
…so many regrets…can’t stop thinking…about…
…
…noise.
…
A loud muffled noise. Another avalanche probably, but without the shaking. It stops after just moments. Then everything is silent again. Then it starts again even louder. The noise is a lot more pronounced this time. It sounds like something shimmering. It’s still pitch black but it’s a sound that can only be described as the sound rays of light could make. It could just be brain damage setting in.
…that’s right. I’m about to die under a mountain of snow. I can’t concentrate on anything anymore. It feels like my head has been detached from the rest of my body. Like there’s nothing to feel anymore. My mind starts … slipping away again.
… didn’t this … happen … already…
…
…
My eyes open to white. A blinding white light that hurts to look at it. Slowly, the white morphs into blue through my squinted eyes. I’m looking at the sky.
I sit up. The scene before me is like something out of a photograph. I’m on the mountain summit. My jacket and snowsuit are in tatters. But I don’t feel cold. My bare feet are on the snow but I don’t feel cold.
Scripted Journal 