The Cold

Chapter 1

In some strange way I suppose I might me grateful. I could have died.

But no.

As the selfish little thing I am, I wish with all my heart that life had not blessed me with its golden light, had blessed me with what my parents had not, apparently, been worthy. It was my 6th birthday. My parents claimed I was the most beautiful little girl to turn six in the entire history of the earth. In the light of such an event, my parents had decided to give me a little surprise. Shushing my curious ramblings, they got me in the little pastel blue Chevy that had been with us for so long, and drove us down the road.

I never found out what the surprise was. And I never will.

It's like it didn't happen. I remember looking out the window, seeing the ancient tree that stubbornly insisted on having been grown on the sidewalk. It was such a self-sufficing, arrogant old tree, that I couldn't imagine it having been planted there by anyone but itself. The tree seemed to smirk at me, as though saying 'now you're really going to get it...' Suddenly, a car came in front of our little Chevy, and we were pushed right into the tree.

I don't remember impact.

The first thing after that was me and my parents lying on the sidewalk surrounded by ferreting strangers, scurrying around like ants after their nest is upset. I thought they were sleeping.

It was then, when they didn't wake up at my touch, that the Cold found me. Perhaps it was the tree. Perhaps it was the strange stiffness of their skin. Maybe it was something else entirely. I drew breath, and I seemed to inhale more than air, something thick and black. It was Cold, and it never left me.

Nobody knew that it was my birthday. Nobody knew that this was supposed to be the best day of my life. Nobody cared.

The Cold got inside me. I couldn't breathe when it was in my lungs. I couldn't walk when it was in my legs. I couldn't hear when it was in my ears. I couldn't think when it was in my brain. Some days it was everywhere. The Cold drove me insane, sort of. Insane enough for a one-way ticket into the asylum. Now, it wasn't the asylum that made it bad. It was white and clean and safe. But it wouldn't have made a difference. I could have been warm, I could have been fed, but the Cold would still be there.

I honestly didn't know how long it had been. I tried. I asked the men and women who came to feed me, but the answers I got made no sense. One morning a young woman told me I had been in there a month, but the next day a middle-aged man told me it had been two weeks. It was then I realised that I couldn't trust my ears.

I had nightmares sometimes, but they were scarce. I woke up screaming sometimes, but mostly laughing, or nothing. My nightmares happened when I was awake, I feared life more than I feared sleep.

Life was my birthday present, I guess...

Yay...

Good for me.

Not.

If your reading this, please like and comment if you like it. I'm really here just to practice my writing, I guess it isn't that good, but anyway! This is my first story that isn't fanfic, so yay! I'm having fun, so yeah, I guess I'll stick around to continue this...

-Zoe