Negev Snowstorms

I was in the eye of the storm, separated from anyone and anything since being caught, captured and partially buried by the local militia. For a while I could hear them off in the distance, possibly in the odd looking building made out of a mixture of sand and cement that my squad had tried and failed to secure forcefully. In the grand scheme of things I think I deserved to be exactly where I was.

The Negev desert was the last place to expect a snowstorm, there were no signs the weather would or could shift so quickly but it did. From dry heat to arctic winds in a matter of minutes, and it appeared the safest place was being buried up to my neck in freezing soil. The sky had become a dark grey haze full of snowflakes blowing wildly in every direction. The sun and its light had been engulfed so easily it felt like it never existed. 

The sand and gravel between my fingers had become so cold it was turning hard. I tried to move my fingers; shift some of the cold coarse grains, but my arms were numb from the elbow down and the rest of my body was following suit. Beside me my squad leader had already lost consciousness, and was probably dead. He’d stopped humming the song he used to sing to his little girl to put her to sleep. He couldn’t fight the delirium let alone the biting cold, and all I could do was watch him slip away. Even though I couldn’t feel them, I kept ordering my hands to move, claw, dig, do anything that might help to avoid his fate. I didn’t have any songs to carry me over.

A gust of cold wind hit me square in the face like a cold hard slap, it hurt but kept me  awake, alert, and reminded me that I didn't want to die; frozen in a cold sandy grave. 

The numbness wasn’t helping me either. I couldn’t feel if I was making progress or not and with every anxious second the panic in me was rising. Use the only muscle worth using, I kept telling myself over and over. My mind was still active and that meant I had a chance, and after several agonising seconds commanding my body to simply twitch, I felt my left shoulder move suddenly, then my right and before long I was wriggling wildly, shifting gravel as it flaked around me, pieces of it were clumping together due to the moisture in the air. I had minutes, at best.

Terrible gusts of wind continued to beat against my face, dissolving my spirit. I wanted to give
in; and I was just about to when, a small section of the clouds broke and for a moment a ray
of light warmed my cheek. It was what I needed. I imagined my body moving violently, 
thrashing freely and it began to work. My left shoulder came out of the ground and I felt the
ends of my fingers, it was a like coming up for air after falling in rapid waters. I fought harder
and freed one arm then used my remaining strength to dig the other one out. It was tiring,
but my internal organs felt like they were getting warmer, and that hurt as much as it made
me happy. The storm continued to rage all around me and I realised that I was running on
borrowed time. My only chance was to head to where the militia were camped and beg them
for shelter, a silly idea considering the circumstances but based on the available options,
dying quickly in a blaze of gunfire felt better than dying slowly and painfully.

By the time I had my feet on the ground in contrast to underneath it, I retraced where I 
thought the camp was and stumbled my way towards it. The snow underfoot was getting
thicker by the second and I reached a snowhill with a door handle. It was the camp; I assured
myself and pushed through, falling inside, the last of my strength depleted. I wasn’t on the
ground for long before a pair of hands dragged my limp body completely inside and I heard
what I thought was the door close and snow crashing down, blocking the doorway. 
I must have died, because the newest sensation I had was, warmth.
Several voices spoke in accented English, enough for me to follow the conversation in my
groggy state. The ends of my fingers and toes were on fire and the pain let me know I was 
very much alive. I could feel a heavy blanket on me and the smell of chicken broth wafting
around the room. The voices weren’t threatening as I expected, instead they were warm
welcoming. These people didn’t want me dead, they were trying to save my life. I knew right
then and there that when I regained my strength, I was no longer going to blindly follow
orders. I imagined my squad would assume, if the militia hadn’t killed me, the cold weather
would. I was free, and I hoped this one time, they’d leave a man behind...


This week in the IndieInk Writing Challenge, I was prompted by, Head Ant with: "You are 
snowed in in an area that doesn't get snowstorms, much less snow. Tell about your positive
experiences during the storm." 
I challenged, KgWaite with: "You're a superhero, so act like one."

Question yourself?

Found via Google Images at: pxleyes.com

Hi all, for the IndieInk Writing Challenge I was prompted by, Leo with: 'I am a Hallucination.' I challenged, Bran with: 'I blamed it on the kids.' 

It often begins with hope.

I’m the thing that gets you through the worst moments of your life and I’m also the beast that got you there in the first place. 

I’m your worst nightmare.  Every time you look in the mirror there’s a chance you’ll see me; in that moment where you think you saw something and weren’t sure if it was fact or fiction. 

When all else fails you turn to me, not by choice, or design; yet I always prove useful. 

I can make your wildest dreams come true and you blandest dreams wild.

In everything there’s a little piece of me, in everyone there’s potential for me to make an appearance.  I love to make you doubt.

I’m at my best when you’ve had the greatest, most amazing time of your life, and then settle down to more mundane, mediocre, time-wasting activities.  I treat those moments as an invitation. I appear like a preview to your impending madness.  All the while I reassure you that there’s no escaping my grip, no deviation from the specter, the ghoul, the moving inanimate object that is chipping away at your sanity.

I’m as real as I need to be to make you question reality.

Next time you turn to look at something very quickly, and, in that flash of movement where your eyes are out of focus, in that brief interlude that barely encompasses the blink of an eye, you’ll find me -- waiting, for you.