The Third Man

Chapter 6 - Deep Dark Places

The site of his injury made his stomach churn. He couldn't even muster the courage to look at it, tears escaping his eyes.

'How can god torture me so much' he thought 'why not just kill me'. He was afraid, angry but worst of all, he was all alone.

His hand had been pierced with metal, and the longer it stayed there, the more he had the chance of getting an infection. Probably even got one already.

Being there for twenty hours, the ice axe had plug his wound for now, but as soon as he would remove it, his hand would start bleeding, and stopping it would be impossible for him. But the longer he let it there the more were the chances for blood poisoning.

He had to act fast. And his only option was to cauterize his wound.

He held his breath, started counting, one.... two.... three....

He jolted upright. Every inch of his body rebelling his act. He couldn't stop himself from shouting in pain, tears trickling down his eyes.

He took a few minutes to take a hold on himself. He opened his bag, took out a blanket, some clothes, his metal water becon, knife, and lighters. He cut the blanket in small pieces and stuffed them inside the becon. He took out his bottle of alcohol kept for happier times. He poured half of the content into another bottle, and saved it for later. He took a long sip out of the bottle, savoured it and after having a long thought took another sip and sprung into action.

He lit the blanket pieces and put the knife inside the cup and kept feeding the fire with the leftover pieces. It was time for the hardest part now. He had to remove the axe out of his biceps. He tried to hold the part of axe just beneath his biceps where it had pierced him with his right hand, but his hands were shaking terribly. He took a careful sip of alcohol, making sure he had enough to treat his wounds.

The alcohol was doing its job in no time. His head lighter now, courage lifted. He willed his hand steady and with one quick move removed the axe.

He let out a torturous cry, feeling all of it like he never had. But there was no time to mourn. He was losing too much blood, and he was in no place to afford a single drop more. Quickly he took out the the knife from the beacon and with five short bursts sealed both sides of his biceps, shrieking loudly. His cries echoing in the crevasse only made it more terrorising.

After a few minutes he wasn't shouting anymore, he didn't have any energy. His brain went into shock from all the pain he had to endure. He was feeling dizzy, too tired to even sit up. He fell backwards, his head hitting the solid ice beneath him. But he didn't care, it was better this way, to not care, to not feel. He stared up, the hole he had made while falling, the sky, black sky, dangerous and aggressive. Slow noise of wind managed to reach his ears. The thought of his team crossed his mind but didn't occupy him much longer. Warm tears were flowing down his eyes. He blinked his eyes, but it was difficult to open them back. He looked at his bicep, a little blood still leaking out of his wound. He reached for the bottle of alcohol and poured it over his bicep. Sharp stinging feeling engulfed his otherwise numb hand. He took a long piece of cloth and shabbily bandaged it around his bicep. He took a sip of alcohol lying down, pouring last of it all over his face and neck in the process.

He wanted to sleep. If not sleep, then just lie there, even keeping his eyes open felt impossible. His mind and body didn't feel any connection anymore. Was this how death felt like? If it did, he was thankful.

He felt peace at last.

He saw glimpses of Mia. Her sweet face, perfect smile, eyes staring at him. All he had wanted for a long time. His lips curling into a smile. Apologizing to her.

It was time. He couldn't hold his conscious any longer.

"I'm coming Joey" he whispered.

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