Kevin Wade Johnson
Snow was falling by the time the sun set, and I soon found myself in the monotonous state I'd been in last night. The frozen crust crumpling just a bit, the sharp wind, feathery with snow, icy against our eyes. No other skin was exposed, but it was once again too dark for the goggles. Winter nights have a certain, stark beauty. This far north, the nights last for hour upon hour; on a clear night, the stars glitter brilliantly. This clouded night, with the snow falling, the world instead became tiny, fading into pale shadows just meters away. The air seemed crystalline, the ground smoothed out by the drifts. Nothing moved, and I could almost believe the least impact would fracture the world. And that's exactly what happened. I fell to my knees, shouting wordlessly. My eyes had gone blind, my ears echoed with a vast soundless noise that swallowed my shouts into silence. My head was stuffed with cotton, or maybe guncotton, the way my skull felt blown to pieces. I moaned without hearing myself, pounded at the snow without feeling it. Then, for a little time, I felt nothing at all.
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