After 127 flights following the exact same route, one would imagine that boredom would be a constant companion. However, the minute details that change as the days go by paint a picture that seem to be fluid in its essence. The covering of the ground with the first snowfall, the migrations of certain animals who are escaping the cold or finding a new source of food, or even the difference between the sun setting at 9 p.m. or 3 p.m. caused by the arctic's heavy seasonal light shifts added to the beauty of this picturesque landscape.

Oliver Plante looked out the cockpit's view ports as he piloted his way from one of the remote northern communities he serviced. He was currently on his way to the airport based in Montreal, a destination that still lay two and a half hours away given his current speed and the weather. He thought of the comfortable yet impersonal feel of the hotel rooms he had lived in for the past 8 months of his life. He did not ask for much when it came to lodgings; a bed, food and a roof were a luxury he knew some people didn't have and thus he chose to not be too picky.

It was in this pensive state of mind that Oliver failed to notice one of his instruments start to indicate a much stronger head wind, a change in barometric pressure, and the onsets of a freak blizzard.

As a few red and orange lights started to turn on his dashboard, quickly returning his thoughts to the present, he stared at the rapidly advancing wall of grey clouds that had descended on the tundra. Weather changes were often quick and unpredictable in this region of the world, oscillating between calm skies to full on tempests in a matter of minutes, but even this was quite out of the ordinary.

The wispy fluff of the clouds swallowed the plane. Oliver paid attention to his instruments more than ever as he had lost almost all vision of the outside world. This tactic would have worked out quite well in the past, but something about this storm was abnormal as the dashboard gauges and readings started to spin wildly out of control. Based on the readings, the plane seemed to be free falling while being sucked into a vortex. However there was very little turbulence, therefore, Oliver was confident he was not losing altitude.

With a frown, he tapped on the nearest wacky reading. What more could he do but just hope it would magically fix itself through the most minute of actions. The hand spun in a constant and dizzying way, defying logic.

As he looked back through the windows, he saw the spattering and splattering of heavy snowflakes. The snow attacked the windshield as if it owed them money, further reducing visibility from nothing to a whole lot of nothing. It was as he tried to look past this blanket of frozen water that he thought he saw a black shadow glide next to the plane in his peripheral vision.

With a jump, he unconsciously tilted the plane slightly to the right, the wings matching the movement of the steering wheel. Another tall and slim black shadow was seen on the left this time, quickly disappearing without any explanation of what it could be.

It was only when a few more of these shadows started appearing frequently in front of the plane, always arriving extremely fast and in the bottom part of Oliver's vision, that fear quickly gripped the pilot's heart as he realized the only logical explanation.

Trees.

As soon as he thought it, a looming shadow flickered in front of the plane before he could push up the yoke of the plane. With a sound that is best described as a heavy thud mixed with the cracking of someone's joints, the plane's underbelly made contact with the top 4 feet of the snow-covered tree.

The plane shuddered but there was very little time to process the information as many more shadows loomed up from the invisible ground and rammed themselves into the different parts of the aircraft. With a snap, the left side propeller blades turned a tree top into a flat top free of charge. The wing's metal coating were hammered by many different trunks and soon gashes started to appear as more and more damage was piled onto the wings and engines.

With a groan from the plane, a scream from the pilot as he now tried to lift the plane high enough to avoid critical damage, and the constant thuds of tree tops being hit, the plane pitched forward violently. Oliver was unlucky as his head hit the dash , immediately drawing blood from the impact wound on his forehead. His vision blurred as the aircraft made contact with the ground, a horrible rumbling sound that could be heard over everything else. The plane's nose stuck and flipped the entire carriage with it, catapulting Oliver back into his seat, unable to move. His vision and consciousness were both cut short as the airbag in his seat-belt deployed and knocked him out.

***

A freezing cold wind licked Oliver awake. With the opening of his eyes came many realizations.

Firstly, he was alive. Surviving a crash landing in the middle of what he could only assume to be a sub-arctic spruce forest was not lucky, it was simply miraculous. In the last few seconds before passing out, he did not have a flashback of his life. All he was thinking about as he grit his teeth and took the impacts head on was the fear and the loneliness of dying like this. He was afraid.

He started sobbing uncontrollably as this first thought was fully registered. His tears flooding out of his eyes as they streamed up his face. He paused. He felt the tears roll into his eyebrows and off his forehead. With red and shaky vision he saw his arms were dangling from his seat as his entire body was upside down. He looked around to confirm this thought which brought about a new world of pain he had not expected.

His vision failed as his brain was racked with delirious levels of pain. He had received a head injury and held a gloved hand up to his temple to try and stabilize himself. Touching that area hurt, he pulled away and saw a red streak on the palm of his hand. It seemed his wound was still fresh and open. He had most likely suffered a concussion, moving was going to be a major challenge in the next few seconds.

As he tried to move his legs came his last realization. He was pinned down by a piece of metal that had wrapped itself around both his legs. He was extremely lucky not to have been impaled by said piece of metal as it was one of the wing struts that had pierced through the exterior of the plane and wedged itself at his feet.

Gathering his strength he pulled as hard as he could, sending electric signals of pain throughout his entire body. He felt the metal begin to move so he redoubled his efforts with a grunt of desperation and yanked the metal up and out. He let it clatter to the ceiling as he dropped it.

With his hands now free, he pressed on the seat-belt's main release after moving the expended airbag. With a clang, his head and left shoulder banged down as he fell from his seat onto the ceiling of the upside down plane. The impact was not enough to make him lose consciousness but it was enough to make him scream. His vision blackened around the corners for a moment until a few big breaths brought it back under control. A migraine pounded like a sledgehammer as he tried to stay calm and begin crawling out of the wreck.

Luckily, the exit was nearby as the cockpit had fully separated from the rest of the plane, leaving a nice opening that had fresh snow blowing through it. He pushed his way past the dangling electric wires and scattered flight reports and maintenance papers that had fallen out of different compartments. Like a marine going through training, he inched forward on his stomach to get through to the end.

He emerged in a world that was devoid of any kindness. The wind was harsh and bit into the side of his exposed cheeks. He looked out at the strewn remnants of his plane. Small fires fought for existence with the falling snow, a battle they would certainly lose.

Taking in the wreckage, he first tried to find his parka. It was often kept within the cockpit but he had failed to think about grabbing it on his way out. Crouching back down on unsteady legs, he looked back into the metal cavern he had crawled out from. His coat lay stuck to the side of the walls, casually blowing in the wind. He pulled on it but was surprised to see it was stuck to something. With another tug he felt it give a little, and as he exerted more and more force he felt something rip and the parka jumped out of its hiding spot.

A quick inspection confirmed what he feared. The coat was missing a sleeve that had remained stuck in a storage door. The back of the coat was also full of slashes where the goose down filling bled out from. It was not going to provide much warmth in the -30 degrees Celsius weather but it was better than wearing a long sleeve cotton shirt.

Luckily, since crashing was always a possibility when flying over remote locations, Oliver always tucked away a small survival backpack. This survival kit lay on the floor, knocked loose from its hidden position under the pilot's seat. Inside this pack was a tiny sewing kit featuring 7 different multicoloured threads and 3 needles of varying sizes. Since the gashes in the back of the coat would most likely take too long to fix properly, Oliver set himself to reattaching the sleeve after freeing it from its prison.

It was monotonous and freezing work as he sat in the mouth of the broken cockpit and slowly put the coat back together to the best of his ability. He had to remove his gloves to better work the material, causing his fingers to glow red from the cold. Given his inadequate vision due to the recent trauma and the blistering cold, the project was completed messily and without much grace. However, it would function for the time being. He put his coat back on and shivered under the freezing fabric.

He let his eyes close and almost drifted off into sleep, but reawakened as drifting off to sleep here would most likely be akin to giving up in a permanent way. He had to preoccupy his mind and did so by taking inventory of what was inside the pack.

72 hours of food which could be rationed into maybe a week of semi-starvation.

A filter for water coupled with an extendable water bottle.

Chlorine tablets for purification.

Medical kit and antibiotic spray.

A very tightly folded emergency blanket.

A one person tube tent kit that could be set up with any pair of sticks.

Matches, steel wool, a D battery, and a flint and steel.

A miniature LED flashlight.

A mini manual on first aid.

10 tablets of acetaminophen.

A fishing kit with line and a Mickey Finn fly.

20 feet of tightly wound parachute cord.

A Swiss army multi-tool.

A pencil and a few folded sheets of paper.

The kit was never meant to be used but he was happy he had bought it all those months ago. He started by swallowing 2 of the acetaminophen capsules and then cleaned his head wound by spraying it with the antibiotic spray. The contact of the spray to the bloody gash hurt but an infection in this area of the world could be quite deadly. It was a necessary evil that he had to endure.

Using a roll of gauze, he wrapped the wound as best he could, giving him the look of an incomplete mummy. He rested gently on the wall and let out a sigh, steam rising from his mouth as he did so. There was no point in braving the storm outside, all he could do for now is wait till it cleared up and visibility was increased.

Oliver wrapped himself up in the emergency blanket and huddled in what he thought would be the warmest spot available in the upside down cockpit. It was not much but it beat trying to walk out into a blizzard.

He felt his strength slip away as the remaining vestiges of consciousness drifted out of his mind. He hoped someone would come find him soon.