Friday, January 24, 2014

End Lesstin Kering X1 1/23/14

(note: see the Master Document for explanation of the End Lesstin Kering project.)
(Comments: The X1 designation means this story was scrapped. See this page for explanation. After this point is the exact document when I scrapped it.)

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[[[Bleh. Pacing. Leave some suspense, then the injury report.]]]

Lesstin's eyes flickered open to a world of cold white light. His breath had melted a small bowl in front of his face that now glimmered with icy edges that clung to his hair and eyelashes.

His left eye was frozen shut, and he had to blink it several times to clear enough ice to see out of it. A ragged shiver shook his body, announcing pain in his chest. Not a good sign. Lesstin pushed himself up on his left arm, which sank elbow deep into the soft snow, with a soft wrinkling-paper crunching sound.

But Lesstin couldn't get up, couldn't pull himself away. His mind swam, spinning through the possibilities. Tight tugging clenched his chest, and panic thrilled his mind. Was something broken in there? Even without the cold, broken ribs could be dangerous, and it was over an hour back to the campsite.

His legs didn't hurt. Not even a little bit. And it took far too long for colors to register that the dark splots on the snow were blood, from his head or back, he couldn't tell. But it didn't seem to be spreading, so the wound must have frozen shut, like his eye had. And that wasn't a good sign either.

He was aware that his thoughts were slow. Scrambled. He forced his mind to focus through injury, and was horrified as he realized his lower torso was pinned beneath the split tunk of a tree that had so recently held his tree stand. Frozen sap twinkled on the half of the tree that still stood, having frozen and burst in the intense cold.

He remembered someone warning him of the cold, but had little between then and now. A woman's voice warm and distant. Lovely. Dismissed.

Wind pulled itself over his body, a taunting, cruel breeze that mocked his immobility with its swirling fingers that dug into the frosted snow layer, and burned their way through his coat and overalls. He felt the cold nip at his skin, and smiled, happy for that plain sign of life.

Memory began assembling itself, like watching a movie in his mind that he almost remembered. One of those words or places that lingered on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the proper impulse to make it whole.

[He came out here to get away from his friends and family, but stayed too long, and has run out of food. He dies, because he was out here hunting when he knew it was too cold, because if he does not, he will have gone without a meal for several days in a row.]

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