Determination
Posted: 2005-02-17 01:33pm
The world is an endless plain of white. The wind howls deafeningly. The snow clings at his legs, as if the world urges him to stop and rest.
He staggers on, ignoring his pain. His head droops. His tail feels frozen solid. He cannot feel his nose or ears. His paws are so cold, they burn. He does not realize that he leaves spots of blood with every footprint. His eyes only see because they are frozen open.
The snow is nearly at knee height. It is difficult for him to shuffle through it. Snow coats his left side, the side against which the wind blows. He takes comfort in that, because it confirms he is staying on course. He wants to go southwest, because there lie better hunting grounds and warmer weather.
His mind feels discordant. He is no longer capable of thinking organized thoughts. He is reduced to simple feelings. He is hungry. He is cold. He is tired. He is hungry. He wants to go southwest. He is tired. He is alone.
He misses his pack. He misses his mate. He misses his pups. He wonders if they are still behind him or if they have given up and succumbed to the snow. He does not stop and turn to look. He would lose his way if he did. Southwest. He must continue southwest.
He staggers and nearly falls to the ground, but catches himself and continues on. His mouth hangs open. His breath does not steam in the cold air. His tongue hangs out, but he makes no effort to gather it in. He must breathe through his mouth because he cannot breathe through his nose anymore.
His blurry eyes play tricks on him. He sees things, but he does not take the time to make sense of them. If he did, he would be tempted to stop. He cannot stop. He must keep moving. He ignores the visions he sees.
His tongue feels like rubber. It is too great an effort to close his mouth, so he endures the feeling. He tries to blink the snow out of his eyes and is surprised when they do not close. He accepts the strange outcome and forgets about it.
He wonders where his mate is. He last saw her a month ago, when the moon was full. It was yesterday. A week past. So hungry. He wonders if she is still behind him. It does not matter now.
He can no longer feel his tongue. He can no longer feel his legs. They now move on the force of repetition alone. Southwest. Southwest. So tired. So hungry. Go southwest. He wonders where his cubs are. Southwest.
He staggers again and this time he falls. At first, he does not realize it and his legs continue to work for a few moments before slowing and coming to a stop. His right eye is buried in snow, yet he makes no move to close it. He cannot feel the snow against his body. His left eye can see nothing but white.
He is dimly aware of himself shifting. He takes this as a good sign. Movement means he is still alive, and as long as he is alive, he can keep moving. He does not realize that his thinking is paradoxical, nor does he realize that he is moving because he is coughing up blood.
Southwest. Southwest. Southwest.
He staggers on, ignoring his pain. His head droops. His tail feels frozen solid. He cannot feel his nose or ears. His paws are so cold, they burn. He does not realize that he leaves spots of blood with every footprint. His eyes only see because they are frozen open.
The snow is nearly at knee height. It is difficult for him to shuffle through it. Snow coats his left side, the side against which the wind blows. He takes comfort in that, because it confirms he is staying on course. He wants to go southwest, because there lie better hunting grounds and warmer weather.
His mind feels discordant. He is no longer capable of thinking organized thoughts. He is reduced to simple feelings. He is hungry. He is cold. He is tired. He is hungry. He wants to go southwest. He is tired. He is alone.
He misses his pack. He misses his mate. He misses his pups. He wonders if they are still behind him or if they have given up and succumbed to the snow. He does not stop and turn to look. He would lose his way if he did. Southwest. He must continue southwest.
He staggers and nearly falls to the ground, but catches himself and continues on. His mouth hangs open. His breath does not steam in the cold air. His tongue hangs out, but he makes no effort to gather it in. He must breathe through his mouth because he cannot breathe through his nose anymore.
His blurry eyes play tricks on him. He sees things, but he does not take the time to make sense of them. If he did, he would be tempted to stop. He cannot stop. He must keep moving. He ignores the visions he sees.
His tongue feels like rubber. It is too great an effort to close his mouth, so he endures the feeling. He tries to blink the snow out of his eyes and is surprised when they do not close. He accepts the strange outcome and forgets about it.
He wonders where his mate is. He last saw her a month ago, when the moon was full. It was yesterday. A week past. So hungry. He wonders if she is still behind him. It does not matter now.
He can no longer feel his tongue. He can no longer feel his legs. They now move on the force of repetition alone. Southwest. Southwest. So tired. So hungry. Go southwest. He wonders where his cubs are. Southwest.
He staggers again and this time he falls. At first, he does not realize it and his legs continue to work for a few moments before slowing and coming to a stop. His right eye is buried in snow, yet he makes no move to close it. He cannot feel the snow against his body. His left eye can see nothing but white.
He is dimly aware of himself shifting. He takes this as a good sign. Movement means he is still alive, and as long as he is alive, he can keep moving. He does not realize that his thinking is paradoxical, nor does he realize that he is moving because he is coughing up blood.
Southwest. Southwest. Southwest.
This ones not very happy at all. Titled appropriately though.
