A Blanket of Cold

A Blanket of Cold

By Megan Sawchek

What is this? What am I? I can’t see anything. A darkness surrounds me, wrapping me in a cold blanket. Stretching out my arms I feel nothing but my own body. I think I have legs, and toes, and hair on my head. How do I know all this? I’m not quite sure what these things are but I know their names. I think I’m floating, I’m going to try to move.

My feet touch something hard and rough. Concrete? With my feet on the ground my head is getting clearer. I have clothes on, just a shirt and pants. I think I know my name starts with “Y.” But the other letters don’t come together. This darkness is cold and my shirt is too thin. I reach my hands out in front of me to feel, there isn’t anything to feel. My toes curl with every step on the cold floor. I have no idea how long I’ve been here or even how long I’ve been walking. My hands fall to my sides and there’s a bump in my pocket. Slipping my fingers in I feel the smooth metal. One end is round. I slide my fingers down the shaft, it’s sharp. A knife? Why do I have this?

I continue walking and the echo of my feet slapping against the floor sends shivers up the back of my neck. My face hits it before the rest of my body does. I think my nose is running. My hands reach up automatically and I feel the liquid pouring out, it’s warm compared to everything else here. I scan the wall with my fingertips. It’s smooth and I don’t feel any imperfections. There are no handles or hinges, or holes. 

Panic is invading my thoughts. Before I was confused, I still am but now I’m scared. I think I might die in here, whatever here is. My nose is still wet, my body is surrounded by cold, and I don’t have any memory. I may never get out. I can’t help it but my hands turn to fists and I’m starting to pound the ground but that’s not good enough, I need to punch. There isn’t anything to punch. The wall? Yes. My flesh slams into the wall and my knuckles sound like rocks. I need to get out. I need to get out. I need to get out. 

I stop. I need to think. I got in here somehow, there has to be a way out. I place one hand on the wall and the other floats beside me looking for hidden objects in the dark. I’m scared but I force myself to take a step and then another and I keep repeating. The hand on the wall moves up and down scanning for anything. I wish I had some socks but shoes would be a blessing. My mind begins to wander.

I see a woman in my mind. Her hair is golden in the sunlight. She’s warm and she stares at me. Her hazel eyes are kind. They’re familiar, I know her eyes but I can’t place them. The rest of her face isn’t there, it’s a blur. But her eyes are clear. As my hand scans the wall, my eyes scan her body. Is she my mother, a sister, a wife? I can tell by the way she stands that she’s strong. The dress she wears is white with little yellow flowers covering it. She looks at me and I know she wants to say something but where would it come from? My hands keep searching. I keep looking at her. She’s so warm. I swear I can feel her. 

My fingertips run along the smooth wall, fall slightly, and continue on the wall. There’s a crack. A CRACK! My heart races. I still see her in my mind but she’s not faceless anymore. Her mouth is petite and her lips move. All she says is, “You,” and she’s gone. Her warmth fades. I’m alone again but maybe not for long. I run my fingers along the crack. It’s vertical and from what I can tell, runs from the concrete floor all the way up as far as I can reach. It’s not a corner and there aren’t any handles. I push on the wall with all of my strength. Nothing moves. I punch out of frustration and my knuckles crack against the wall, nothing again. I press my back against the wall and slide down the cold. My fingers hurt from the freezing air and my neck has chills once again. I pull my knees to my chest and hold myself. 

I can’t see, my body aches, and I’m alone. I wish I could see her again. If I’m never getting out at least I would have her, but my mind can’t summon her light. My fingers are too cold. I slip them into my pockets. I know my eyes widen because I feel my eyelids stretch. I have a knife. I’m not sure how I get to my feet but I’m up and my hands search for the line in the wall. I slip the knife out of my pocket and place it in the crack. At first I slide it up and down trying to flip a latch. I’m not at all surprised when I don’t find one. I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt defeat before, I can’t remember, but I feel it now. 

I have no memories so what’s the point of getting out anyways. Maybe I’m better off in here. I stab the knife into the crack to get rid of it but the knife slides through, with some resistance, but it slides. 

It’s too much, I can’t open my eyes. Even my right hand over my eyes doesn’t help block out the light. It hurts but not like my hands hurt. This is different somehow. There’s warmth on me. It feels so good. I don’t know how long it’s been since I felt this but I missed it so much. Sooner than I expected my eyes are ready to peak at what’s behind the wall. I can’t see much through the sliver of light but I swear I see little yellow flowers and a name comes to my mind, “Yusef.” 

The End