My path of escape was leading nowhere. My lips were chapped and dry and my fingers could barely move. It had been two hours or so, but still no sign of help. My body was ready to surrender to the inclement weather, but a thin slice of hope that still lingered within me urged me to go on. That thin slice of hope fluctuated in my body, serving as a barrier between life and death.
Hope was now my only ammunition against death.
I continued my journey, eventhough it seemed misleading. Yes, I kept on going. And I refused to let fatigue overcome me, knowing that it poses as a trap, luring death to come snatch my soul away.
So I kept my legs moving and my pace steady.
Time whizzed by. I was right about the storm. Snow was beating down hard on me, and that's when I was completely stripped clean. There was no energy or hope left in me. And with the their absence came acceptance.
I couldn't think of anything. But I was able to form one thought with my befuddled mind.
I am going to die.
I unfold the invisible fingers that encased my conscience, and I decided to just let it go. I fell face first into the snow, its icy texture stinging my face. My field of vision became smaller as my eyelids slowly blocked out the light.
I was seeing nothing but darkness as my conscience slipped away.
I was still half-alive, I think, when I heard it.
Footsteps.
And snow that crunched under boots.
At that point, I was unable to open my eyes again. But my hearing still clung onto my conscience, and my ears detected these words before I went out.
"Barton, we found her."
