The Storm

Heavy winds bar my way as I slug my way onwards in the storm of ice and snow, my every step depleting energy at an alarming rate. Never have I seen a storm of this type and magnitude, one that comes from nowhere and blurs my vision to the extent of me being blind to what lay beyond the reach of my arm. At first, I felt the cold creeping up my skin, causing great discomfort and the clattering of teeth, but now I feel nothing. At first, I panicked, but only because I believed there to be a possibility of survival, I no longer do. I feel my legs give way from exhaustion, but I guide my shaking hand toward my belt, reaching for the bottle and drinking the last bit of vodka before throwing the now empty bottle to the storm. The burn in my throat enables me to continue this futile certain-death journey, and it dulls my senses further, which Is a good thing. The newfound energy does nothing but prolong my stay on earth, prolong my suffering. My last thoughts before falling head-first into the snow is of my friends and family. I am grateful for them being part of my life, despite me taking them from granted in everyday life. How ironic that It took death for me to see the worth of our bond.

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