A frighten flock screaked out of the woods, flapping away from the sudden thud of a fallen tree. Another scream was present in the incident, but buried under the dense conifer leaves, and the pile of snow that fell due to the quake. The kid was trying to get some wood, and probably some small creatures to add on the table, but for now he is as ready to eat as a tied-up fowl for occasional carnivores that visit the forest. After a while of being incapable to react, the kid got himself together and tried to breathe in despite the hurting coldness of the air but ended up in a slight sigh due to the mass sitting on his back. It is baffling how flakes as light as feather could be so heavy, he thought, but I can wiggle my way out.
Positivity is crucial in devastating situations, though its source in this case is naivety. Digging through snow without a tool is not itself an easy task and is extremely strenuous digging forward with limited capacity to breathe not to mention the pressure on the back. Bodily movements create heat, though it also melts the surrounding snow just enough to seep into and disable the warmth that the clothes provide, but not enough to make the hole wider for better crawling. The kid, being slightly over ten years old, is not much stronger than those with the same age. And the situation that he is in would indeed be devastating for a grown up to deal with and would normally drive a youngster like him to lose hope in this dark, wet, freezing tomb readied by coincidences and fate.
But as mentioned, positivity is important, no matter the source. The kid felt all the above and has a much rich and accurate experience than the words that I utter; he is himself in that situation. However, none of that description of the situation stayed longer than a snap in his mind. The hope and urge to survive powered by naivety allowed him to not dwell on the practical issues and forecasts of the despairing destiny, and fueled those small Icey gloves to repeat and repeat digging his way out.
How pitiful! We would say from a god's eye view, that the kid is not capable to recognize his doomed fate and simply and irrationally decided not to succumb. None of his hard work will pay off, none of his fantasies of living on would come true. He is going on a path to be betrayed none other than his positivity, and hope. But then, is such positivity meaningless, and he should lay dead if he is capable of objectively knowing the situation that he is in to be an inevitable death? Should he care if such death is theoretically destined and respond to it by abandoning the will to live? No, I would say, when nothing is under the control of our will and there does not seem to be any possibility to prevail we can decide to die diligently as an arrogant being of free will, insisting our recognition of reality to be what determine our actions, or decide to succumb to fate before to death.
The kid, however, did not think of any of this. He has not been educated enough to apply logic and human thought to every event. In some sense his natural instincts has not been corrupted by intellectuality, and never had to convince himself to fight on, to be susceptible to fate's grace, the miracle, the only chance to get out. And it, the miracle, did happen.
The world had never been so quiet. The sound of the wind and the vibration of the other lives in the forest was something the kid lived with, but now only his own breath and vein can be heard, not even his own thoughts or the noise made by him chipping off the snow. It wasn't until one of his hands swung through the air that he realized that it broke through the stacked snow. Hope, has prevailed. Despite the fact he was never depressed by the situation, the fire of hope started to light up his body and mind. Crawl! Just another crawl! Just one from feeling the word again.
The airflow should have chilled through his wet fingers, but the center of his palm was blazing hot. It was the heat from the center of the bowel, but more due to the fresh wound and the warm flesh surrounding it.
It did not took long for the kid to feel the pain, almost mistaking it with the joy and stimulation of the outside world. The pain was unbearable. The resolution of touch by his hand was enhanced by the contrast of heat felt by the rest of the body, but moreover the reflexive expectation of enjoyment, just as when divers crave to enjoy the breath in detail once broken out of the sea, but now the same degree of fine pain, the stroke of each spilling vessel and vein, the sticky wetness thicker than sweat and melted snow, the sudden clash of hope and torment, all of that kept him undecided how to react, or rather, incapable to decide at all.
The boy screamed and squealed uncontrollably. Desperately retracting the same limb that he was once desperately extending yet locked in place by the ivory feeling spikes. Countering the boy's reflexes, whatever that is caging his palm suddenly start yanking in all directions, then straightening his arm in strong pulses, as if wanting to pull him out.
The boy's mind was stranded on among the sea of pain, half dwelled in the torment, yet half struggling on the shore of consciousness. In such a blurry state of mindfulness he decided to stop, to stop trying to prevent more pain, because it dawned on him that the more he tries, the more he will suffer, and eventually let go of his contracting muscles, physically succumb to the seemingly inevitable force.
Drowned again in the sea of pain, and in the mixture of melted snow and sweat, and saliva and blood that ran down his powerless arm, It was hard to maintain conscious. It was hard to think. Not that thinking would change the tides. The only sensation he could make sense of, is the feeling of nearly breaking out. Just a few more pulls. A few more. To be back, in the outside world.
But all in a sudden, in the middle of another impulse, it stopped. The boy's arm fell to the snow beneath, as if whatever was causing that pulling and dragging have lost interest in it. But no, the boy did not felt like his palm and fingers were dislodged from the bite, he can still feel the ivory spikes, but now also subtle twitches.
The cease of stimulation put the boy's mind in a slight sense of peace. In no way that comfort has anything to do with his situation, but relief has undeniably loosened his nerves. The blurry conscious once due to intense turmoil remains to be , but due to the opposite sensation. Nevertheless he has no energy left to move any part of his body, not to mention the energy to find out what has happened.
A while later, the back of his head felt cold again, as the forest breeze ran through the soaked brown hair, and something carving through the shallow snow exposing his neck. A hard rod, like metal like wood, inserted in between the neck, snow and the hood, pressing on the artery.
"...Shit, not dead."
The rod left the neck, and there was no motion, then a deep sigh.
The snow that buried the boy's body was removed. Revealing all of the hair and both ears, then the back, the waist, and the legs. Slowly he was flipped from the left to the right, avoiding further movement of the injured right hand. Air. Dry, clean air. Breathe, and let go. The circulation of respiration is restored, the feeling of being back in this beautiful world, alive.
This common blend of Oxygen and Nitrogen was enjoyable as a gulp of Ambrosia and has restored the slightest power to crank open his sticky half solidified eye lids.
Though unclear, it seemed like a man. Was it not obvious though, why the uncertainty? Well, the common imagery of an adult male human being is not without clothing, not half in blood, and not holding a crossbow in one hand.
The other hand without the bow is searching for injuries on the boy's body and holding back to the crossbow from time to time, looking towards the slightest sound source around. His hand eventually came near to his mouth pinching his cheeks to widen it up and inspect the airway. The boy's eyes, which were just a slit wide were cramped and shut by this forced facial expression. And did not have the strength to open up again nor to be aware of his situation. Until sometime later.