I trudged along the vast plains of snow, the layers of heavy clothing did little to protect my brittle and tired body from the harsh and bitter cold.
I was injured- deep cuts and gashes lined all over my body, a dislocated wrist and a limp in my left leg. My body numb and my breath ragged, I looked for a place to set up a temporary camp. I did not lack resources for now, but climbing with a heavy sack did have it's cons. I started off with a team of six, we were perfect- a doctor, a navigator/geologist, a nutritionist, a two time climber, a survivalist in training and finally me- the technician. But now I'm the only one left climbing. I found a good spot surrounded by three boulders, high enough to block most of the wind and snow that sometimes moves at terrifying speeds- the average being a humongous speed of 160km/h, known to have thrown a vast number of climbers out of the mountain. I relocated my wrist- a painful but necessary technique I learnt from the survivalist (Meng Shi a 25 year old male of China)- and set up a tent within 15 minutes and scurried inside to bask under the heat of my makeshift heater. I felt the need to check up on my left leg, and there it was a small shaft of wood impaling my forefoot which had obviously turned blue by now. I had to remove it somehow, I knew it wouldn't hurt, but my stupid head wouldn't let me do it. I steeled my nerves and slowly moved my shivering hands towards the shaft, my face paled as I slowly pulled the piece of wood out, that's when I heard the loud boom and my heart stopped.