My Feet Were Frozen

Her heartless glare went through me, her eerie blue eyes radiating an icy atmosphere throughout our house. I felt it thoroughly; the frigidity impaling my heart, leaving it alone to bleed and eventually freeze my soul. As she stared, her mouth began to tremble, as if the coldness in her heart was leaking throughout her and taking over her body, rendering it unable to resist its hostile temptations. There was a long pause. Then a stutter. Then finally, all hell as I knew it came loose. She began to scream a bloodthirsty, clamouring scream; she became so infuriated the sounds coming out of her mouth did not string together. I did not bother to listen. These were all words I had heard countless times before, in this same, arctic room. There was no emotion on her face other than anger, disgust and cold-heartedness. Looking into her emotionless, soulless, frozen eyes, I came to a realisation. A sudden wave of clarity that felt freeing; like finding a warm fire in the harshest of blizzards. That was all I needed.

I had been waiting my whole life for the moment where I could finally stand up to her. An opportunity to finally, after all these years, scream back at her face and pay for everything; be ruthless with my words as she is with hers. Then I realised she is not worth all my anger or any of my voice. All she deserves is for me to turn around, slam the door and never look back.

However much the satisfaction inside me warmed my heart, I was still left in the freezing, winter wind with nowhere else to go. I thought about what I could do; a homeless shelter, a friend's house, anywhere really. But the temptation to sleep was frightening, the urge for the hollow peace of rest, an escape from my emotions. I sat down beside the road on a heavy blanket of snow. I did not care that it was wet, or the risks that could come. My eyes were sore, the lids scraped painfully across my irises when I blinked. I thought about going to the nearest liquor store, robbing it, drinking till I can't stand up. I thought about going back. Apologising. Sleeping in my own, warm bed with my wife and waking up to the smell of fresh breakfast and coffee. But I am better off here, as is she alone, with the sting of the shards of hard ice on my cracked lips, with my breath falling and rising, reminding myself I am still alive and breathing. And so I thought, and then I slept.

In a few minutes, my fingers numb, mouth dry, and hungry, I was awake again. Or was I? Looking up I saw the stars, the winter constellations. I felt the snow dampening my skin, the refreshing cold moulding my dream, almost embodying it as reality. But it wasn't. I could see the sky and feel around me, but the dream had not stopped. I stood, wavering, confused at the scene. Then, I felt it.

The sudden, urgent rush of an unstoppable storm. Its winds made me stumble, made me useless and uncontrollable. I could walk, but only barely, and I swayed recklessly; my feet were beginning to freeze, beginning to feel pain. I wanted nothing more for them to be numb, to succumb to the frigidity. I began to search, scouring for any hint of shelter in this wasteland. I did not get far, ultimately, only a few metres before my feet could no longer walk, until my soul gave up, unwilling to use any more of my body's strength. Then I saw it.

The shelter was ahead; a stable, small cave where I could be free from this endless hell. But no. My feet were frozen. I could feel the ice piercing them through my boots and thick socks, its shards striking me as a knife does to skin, as a wolf does to prey. All I needed was a few more steps. A mere second or two that, although seemingly useless, could grant me peace, a respite. You would think that in a life-threatening situation, a tiny, meaningless step would be simple. That in this severe danger, you would be able to run endlessly if it meant safety. But my feet were frozen. Whether it was literal or metaphorical, I am not sure. I did not have the courage to look down. Or anywhere else, for that matter. All I could see was the fierce overhanging storm, the grey, lifeless blizzard in front of me, churning the wind, hungry for warmth.

The cold was starving; ravaging for my entire body and soul, reaching through me to take any feeble glimpse of warmth I had left. I clenched and unclenched my frigid fingers, attempting to save any movement left in my body, anything to keep me alive, to keep me from becoming one with the wind, entrapped in its fury. But no matter what I did against this hostile wind, no matter how hard I pushed myself, no matter how eerily close the comfort and safeness of the cave was, my feet were frozen, and I did not step forward.

And so, in time, I was frozen. My entire body, entrapped in a thick layer of ice, stuck in its place as if time had completely halted. My soul, repenting itself, overflowing with hatred and sadness, frozen in fear. I almost did not want to leave this place, this dream. That way, at least, nobody would ever have to see or think of me ever again. I wanted to disappear, to stay frozen, the only thing the same in this ever-changing world. But, it is only a dream. And you must always awaken, no matter if reality is better without you, or if the dream is pure paradise. You must awaken. And perhaps, in time, when the snow has melted and the pale petals of blossoms bloom, twisting and curling around a twig of a bough, revealing the spring set to come, the reality where you are warm will appear. A reality where there is no unstoppable storm of fury aiming to take what makes you alive, reaching inside to take your happiness and your breath. A place where no cold aches in your bones, but instead you feel the ease of the hot sun on your back, taste ripe figs, warm from their tree, spilling sweet nectar through your healing fingers. And, most importantly, a time where your feet are not frozen, so you may walk the fields and travel the world as you wish. You will be wanted and needed. People will smile when they see you. You will be happy. You will be alive.