Cold

***

He stumbled through the frozen landscape, a mere shadow in amid white. His breath hung in the air, each exhale a desperate plea. Layers of clothing clung to his skin, damp and suffocating, an embrace turned traitorous.

The wind lashed at his face, chipping away at the last vestiges of warmth. His steps faltered, each heavier than the last, as the ground beneath him grew heavier, more unforgiving. The silence of the night was broken only by the hollow crunch of snow underfoot, a cruel reminder of his isolation.

His fingers, once agile, now moved like frozen claws, unable to grasp the significance of the battered bundle he clutched. The flickering light of a distant shelter teased him, a mirage that danced just beyond reach. It pulsed like a desperate heartbeat, each flicker echoing his fading pulse.

As the numbing cold insinuated its way into his very bones, his movements became disjointed, as if stumbling away from an unseen assailant. His eyes, wide with terror, scanned the horizon. The world around him blurred into a distorted nightmare, a phantasmagoria of white and black closing in.

A profound weariness consumed him, and he collapsed to his knees. The snow beneath him offered no solace, only a frigid cradle for his inevitable demise. His breaths, once defiant, now wheezed out like a mournful dirge, dissipating into the icy void.

His gaze settled on the distant light. The shelter, once a haven, now seemed like a malevolent specter, a false promise of warmth. 

Darkness, a final shroud, consumed him. His shallow breathing at length ceased, and a haunting stillness permeated the icy night.