WhiteExodite on Nostr: The sound of crunching snow felt almost as harsh as the ice in Bernard's lungs. He ...
The sound of crunching snow felt almost as harsh as the ice in Bernard's lungs. He could only hope and pray it wasn't pneumonia; how long had he been out here, three hours? Four? All he knew was that the sun was beginning to set, and the pink in the sky threatened to be the last color he ever saw. Not if he could help it.
Ol' Bernie was no stranger to inclement weather. He was a northerner, and northerners were known to not feel temperature. He had providence to thank he chose a coat over bravery. It had only just gotten very cold, and he had been eager to set a spot for ice fishing. No catches, but Bernard was satisfied with the construction. That's when the surprise blizzard had replaced the path home with a uniform blanket of fresh snow.
"Please don't be the end of me."
Maybe he shouldn't have spoken aloud, his voice sounded awful. The buildup in his lungs was getting worse. For a moment panic quickened his pace. When should he check his extremities? He was too numb all over as it was!
If he hadn't made a conscious effort to calm his nerves, he wouldn't have seen it. The sun was setting behind him, the shadows of the forest stretching past him, and what had felt like slender headstones now provided enough darkness to see the light. A faint light, almost twinkling, but clearly incandescent and visible. It could only be from the window of a cabin.
He hurried its way, brave again. The snow kicked up under his feet, and he forced the phlegm aside for heavy breaths. Slowly the cabin came into view, then its second floor, and suddenly Bernard realized this wasn't home.
Published at
2026-10-19 20:42:06 UTCEvent JSON
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