Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Less than a Mile from Safety

Ice clung to my beard, turning my face into a glassy portrait. I only needed to travel one more mile to the base camp – warmth- but this wasn't exactly a Sunday stroll around the local park.
No, this was Alaska. The winters up here do their best to kill you. Fuck.

I wasn't even supposed to be here. I'd signed up for a summer shift on the rig – a last minute cancellation and the promise of triple my salary kept me around as the seasons changed. Of course, what they lavished on my, they skimped on my equipment – so here I am, busted truck twenty-some miles behind me, camp tantalizingly close.

I knew I had to keep going, but my body objected at every step. “Warmth!” it cried out. “Fire!”

My will, never one to stand up to a challenge, finally left me. I curled into a ball, shivering, dying beside the road.

Less than a mile from safety.

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