The door creaked open, its sweet moan welcoming me into the only place I could call home. It was warm, though no fire crackled, but it wasn’t dim. There was only a small source of light hanging from the ceiling, a makeshift lamp that never seemed to run out. I never questioned it, nor did I try to check why or how. I didn’t need to know. I didn’t want to.

  I sat down and shoved off the mountain of snew sticking to my legs, dampening the rotten wooden floor. The fierce wind whistled through the cracks, pushing against the four walls I dared call a shelter. There was a window in one of them, a small, foggy, low quality glass window that barely allowed me to see some distorted image of the outside world.

  My lips smacked together, trying to get rid of the frigid dryness that cracked them, but it was to no avail. A large cloud of vapor formed before me as I sighed, signs that there was some warmth inside me.

  “The pen…” I say out loud, afraid that I might forget how to speak if I did not, then “the notebook.” I quickly picked them up. They trembled alongside my hands, but I found the strength to open the small, worn-out notebook and hold it on the box I called a bed. Flipping through its pages, I see day after day, month after month passing by. Records of previous residents, what they wrote, drew, lived through. I too, do the same. If not for helping me not lose track of time or forget who I am, but for anyone else who may find this place after I’m gone.

  Today proved to be as fruitful as the last. My cold hands have come back empty, the forever blowing snew refusing to stack up higher than my knees. I couldn’t see anything, nor anyone, nor anywhere. The fog was too thick, the snewflakes too dense. Any footsteps I made immediately got covered up. Were it not for the fact that I knew where this small cabin was, I would have gotten lost.

  I don’t know how I knew, though, but I know I do, at the very least. I was led here, through the snew and wind, and found it as I did. It was empty, safe for notebooks, the lamp and a few pelts. It smelled bloody horrible, too, but I bore through. In this white, frozen hell, this place was a little corner of heaven. However, even such heavens came with heavy prices. Knowledge.

  Ever since I begun reading the journals, a difficult to imagine feeling rose up within me. A sensation of fear mixed with anxiety, palpitation… and a morbid curiosity that I couldn’t put away. It wasn’t the sort that I felt before, like what would happen when I sat the edge of a high building and looked down. It wasn’t the same… it wasn’t an impulse or desire to find out what happens after I die. No, it was…

  Whatever I wrote at that time got covered in blood, spit out by me as I coughed. I don’t know what illness I contracted but the snew didn’t help me, the frigid cold intensified it, and the desolate hopelessness of the situation amplified my desire to lay down and never rise again. However, I couldn’t. I don’t know why.

  Why would I not put an end to this eternal suffering, eternal hunger, thirst and pain? Why not stop this nightmare, this eternal winter, this insufferable domain made by the devil? Even when I questioned myself, I had no answers. My will to live, to progress, to exist, has long since faded. Yet I cannot end it all. Something is keeping me here.

  I turned the page after the blood froze and began writing again from the beginning.

  The day was harsh, the sun, despite its visual absence, made its presence through its blinding rays. They fell on the white snow, which then reflected it back, creating a veil of light so sharp my eyes hurt from looking at them for a second. Luckily the snew was thick, the fog dense, and the winds rapid. There was no sign of game, not through this snew. But it was weird, I had no need for food or water as I had neither thirst nor hunger. Yet something made me go outside and look for food, seek water, even the frigid snow blanketing my face and clothes.

  I sat outside until it was dark, until the winds calmed down and the snew stopped falling. I had nothing better to do anyway. This winter has come and never left, and I haven’t seen any breathing human since…a long time ago. But I have seen humans… husks of what they used to be. Dried up, black, seemingly charred corpses. They had missing fingers, or limbs, their throats were cut, or backs were stabbed. A lot of them, in many numbers. And I wasn’t alone.

  The journals said, the entries written before me, said the same thing. Perhaps we saw the same people, perhaps they themselves became one of them.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  But the night in this winter… was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. The stars glowed with the majestic light of a shining city, and there was a constant boreal aura dancing on the night sky. Purple, green, pink, red and blue, all mixed in a cacophony of colours that decorated the darkness that has did nothing more than take over my life.

  Within the colours I see a pattern, it repeated itself again and again, like the earth circling the sun. It was predictable. I spent my time learning it, as I had nothing better to do. It was pretty, and it never got boring, but it felt… looming. Like a presence, watching. In the end I always head back to the shack, which I couldn’t call my own, and rest for the night, with eyes wide open, awake.

  I couldn’t sleep, not knowing what will come. A huge earthquake happens every morning, so strong and fierce that I wonder if I will survive it. Not that I wanted to, anyway, but I still feared it. And so that morning, it happened again. The earth shook, the trees scattered, the snow fell once again, and the rapid winds threatened to take the air out of my lungs. Such were my morning.

  I got up long after it was over, long after I contemplated joining the other humans whose throats were slit. I had a knife, of course, a rusty one. I found it in the cabin, alongside long frozen blood puddles. I wonder if they killed themselves then walked outside out of courtesy for the next unlucky soul to make their way here.

  Truth be told I don’t even know how I got here, I just… remember being someone. No name, though, no memories of my past, nothing of who I once was. I have a feeling a remember what it was like before this snow, but at the same time it’s hard to recall if anything of what I am, existed. But that’s just a feeling, one I do not wish upon anyone reading this.

  I go on with my day, staring at the falling snow and looking for anything that might be able to feed me, kill me, or waste my time. I always hoped it was the second option, but nothing ever came. Nothing moved besides the trees, nothing threatened to kill me besides the layers of snew pilling up on me. However, it never killed, it never could. I don’t know if that was the case, or it didn’t want me to.

  I decided to do something I haven’t done in a while; I don’t think I dared to, in fear of losing my vision, but I had to. My eyes drifted upward, and I stared at the sky. Bright, so bright, yet so foggy. My eyes hurt like they never did before, as if the sun itself stared right into my soul. However, I managed to see it, the colour of the sky. It wasn’t blue like I had assumed, but a weird beige and a combination of brown and green. Green… just like the trees surrounding me. Pine trees. The colours were distorted, like the image I see when looking through the window.

  Lowering my gaze, I decide that it was time to head back. I took slow, careful steps going back through the snow however… I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find my shack. Panic rose within me, such panic that I had never felt… not when I ran away from someone, or when… when… I saw… an… ice?...

  It was nowhere to be seen, my shack, as if it disappeared. I circled around the spot where I knew it was, and the snow grew even so fiercer. The wind whistled… yelled… raged. It was hard to bear, the shelter I dared call home had left me all alone. The snewflakes hit my face like pebbles, cutting me. I felt it, blood… trickling down my face. It froze quickly, but I tasted its irony smell. I wasn’t immortal, the snew wanted to kill me now. My heart raced

  I was naked, more naked than I ever felt in my life. My notebook, my writings, my light, my bed… all… gone. Suddenly the harmless snew became a killer, each second that passed cutting me deeper and deeper, causing more and more blood to flow. It died the snew at my feet a fearful crimson. It was beautiful, so beautiful, a colour in this snowy hell.

  Then the sky darkened, suddenly, not gradually. It always darkened like that, but I never took account of it. Now I questioned myself, why was it so… it was never so. Not back when I… I… look down at my boot and see it. I bleed now, I can bleed, I can die… This snew and cold will kill me eventually so why not…

  But I waited as I took the blade out of my boot, then stared at the sky, waiting for it, for the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. A dumb smile plastered on my face, a smile of freedom. I wanted to see it one last time.

  And it arrived, but not as I remembered it. It wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t flowy… It was disorderly, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, sometimes gradual and sometime sudden. Red, Yellow, Blue, Green, Orange…

  A tear fell down my cheek, mixing with the frozen blood. I took my knife and plunged it in my jaw, shutting it, then fell to the ground with an agonising expression.

  **

  The door creaked open, its sweet moan welcoming me into the only place I could call home. It was warm, though no fire crackled, but it wasn’t dim. There was only a small source of light hanging from the ceiling, a makeshift lamp that never seemed to run out. I never questioned it, nor did I try to check why or how. I didn’t need to know. I didn’t want to.

  I sat down and shoved off the mountain of snew sticking to my legs, dampening the rotten wooden floor. The fierce wind whistled through the cracks, pushing against the four walls I dared call a shelter. There was a window in one of them, a small, foggy, low quality glass window that barely allowed me to see some distorted image of the outside world.

  I sighed and shivered as the corpse sitting right outside the shack smiled at me again. I always saw it, stuck in the snew, looking up at the sky… the wound in its jaw always made me shiver.

  Written By: FabioKun ()

  Writing Prompt: “Write a story about being stuck in an infinite snowstorm.”

  Themes: Psychological, Supernatural, Horror