#then when i trecked back with a flashlight and my watch i found out i couldnt ping it without wifi

[candlewitches]

There’s truly no joy like a northern mix in snow up to their chest

I wanted to stay on the already trampled path around the meadow perimeter, Kal said we had to go through the middle so he could look for bunnies

[creepypasta-fictions]

The Teacher (pt.7)

HEADS UP: Filler is finally here! Had the biggest writers block ever.

On her final day of Harvard, before it closed for safety reasons, Susan decided to take a treck through the woods, and photograph anything she found suspicious. Yes, she was slightly disappointed that this would impair her education, but she was even more disappointed because she thought the investigation was going to stop. Well, she overheard Mr Blackburn and Mr Andrews talking about it whilst she was walking past the principal’s office earlier that week before Mr Blackburn was arrested…

“Sir, is it really necessary to close the school?!” Mr Blackburn protested.

“I’ve already told you, Christian, your job is over!”

“But what am I supposed to do if there are any more murders?!”

“Nothing. And there won’t be. The case is gonna be closed.”

“Oh, that’s sure sly, Steve! I was helping you out! I thought you had my back! And now they’re gonna let me go down for this?!”

“Better you than anyone else.” The principal snapped.

Susan fought the urge to gasp. Could it be possible that the principal of Harvard was also involved with the murders?! It was funny, since he took exactly the same schedule off as Mr Blackburn, during which time, they could have gone to Connecticut and did their dirty work there… could it be possible that Mr Andrews was helping Mr Blackburn?

Susan knew she couldn’t tell this to the police. It would surely threaten her return to Harvard. In fact, she knew she would be expelled if the principal was roped into the investigation, whether or not he was an accomplice. Which lead her to question which of the two was more important: Susan’s education, or justice for the victims? And possibly saving lives of multiple law student victims yet to come in both states?

***

Before she proceeded to enter the woods, she thought she would wait for Mr Andrews to leave, just to see what would happen. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a good thing. Since winter was coming and the nights were drawing in, it was getting dark quickly, and before she knew it, Susan was surrounded by a starry sky. She lay on the grass and looked up at the constellations. Suddenly, for a split second, a shooting star flew by past Harvard. Closing her eyes, Susan wished for justice for Amy. All the time she spent waiting, she kept her eyes mainly focused on one certain star; the brightest star in the entire sky. And she couldn’t help but think of Amy.

Out of nowhere, she heard a familiar soft voice coming from beside her.

“You know Susie, they say that stars shine at their brightest when they’re at the end of their life. As if they’re about to explode. Remember in 8th grade when we did astronomy?”

“Yeah, I remember, Amy. You used to say that you always dreamed of being the brightest star, and now you are,” she pointed up at the bright shining star in the sky.

“No, Susie, that’s you. Everything is in your hands now. It’s your job to stop the killer.”

“Can you tell me who killed you?” Susan asked. She held her breath, waiting for a reply. But there was nothing but silence.

Susan sat up, taking a gander at her surroundings. But there was nobody there. There were no sounds of footsteps to signify that anyone had gone away. Amy wasn’t really there. Amy was dead. And Susan was sitting in the middle of the Harvard grounds, staring at the stars and hearing her voice. She didn’t know how much longer she could take this.

She was about to lunge up when she heard quiet footsteps coming from outside the main entrance. A silhouette of a portly bald man came into view. Unfortunately, it was so dark that she could not see where he was looking. To keep on the safe side, Susan lurked in the bushes, watching as the man whom was quite clearly Mr Andrews, as he loaded a large trunk into his car, struggling and grunting as he did this.

What the fuck was in that trunk?

She decided it was best to run away before the engine started and she got caught in the fog lights of Mr Andrews’ fancypants vehicle. However, she did stare at him as he drove off, down the path into the woods. Realising this was a life or death matter, Susan decided to follow him. Her awkward lanky legs became springs at the moment, every footstep leaving a crash, almost as loud as her heart was beating. She followed the trail of fucked up dust left behind until she saw Mr Andrews getting out of his car. Not wanting to be seen, she slipped behind a tree, her feet scraping onto the piles of crunchy, decaying winter leaves.

Hauling the trunk out of the back seat, he set it down carefully up on the pile of leaves. After that, he leaned back on his car, and crossed his arms. He remained that way for about ten minutes, until a second car drew up, a few yards away from Mr Andrews’ car. Out stepped a tall ominous figure, one that was becoming very familiar to Susan.

“A Honda Prelude, huh?” Mr Andrews asked inquisitively, giving the rather unfamiliar looking car a once-over.

“Yep, first one I picked up from the parking lot by the gas station. Y’know, the one down the road from the Sherrif’s office.” Mr Blackburn’s voice responded. At this moment, if there was any chance of her remaining unseen, Susan would have growled out loud, maybe even screamed. How the hell did he get released so damn early?

Then she realised.

There was no fucking evidence.

Shit.

This was her moment. And Susan knew it. She was 99% sure the burden of proof lay upon her that Mr Blackburn was guilty of these murders. She now knew that she had to find that extra 1%.

She continued to spy on the two shifty men.

“So, when did you get out?” Mr Andrews asked, as he began rummaging through the large trunk in which he had brought from Harvard.

Mr Blackburn shrugged, seemingly unfazed by this huge ordeal. And it pissed Susan off even more. “Meh, about three hours ago. I got your text, had to go and take care of some stuff and then I came straight here for my share of the deal.” During the last part of the sentence, Mr Blackburn’s tone turned to a slimy one, almost like a hungry beast from a fantasy movie.

“When you say stuff, what kind of stuff? Did you do what I asked you to do?”

“Yeah, and more besides. I went to the Harvard enrollment department. I unenrolled Higginson from the degree course, so when Harvard opens again, which shouldn’t take long, she’ll be gone. And we can get back to business as usual, right?”

Susan gasped. She had been expelled for trying to uncover the truth. Although she was not going to let this stop her.

“What even is business as usual anymore?” Mr Andrews muttered, scratching the back of his head. His eyes kept darting around from place to place, almost as if he had a sixth sense, and could feel that he was being watched. And the perplexed look on his now sweaty face, also indicated he knew who was watching him. Yet he didn’t act on this.

“You know, Steve! We rob the victims, then we sell all their items! That’s why the police can never find any evidence!” Mr Blackburn hissed.

“That’s exactly why I brought this.” Mr Andrews pulled up a large sack out of his trunk of what looked to be stolen goods.

“Does this mean I finally get my payment?” Mr Blackburn asked impatiently.

“Yep. God help you if the police got their hands on this shit,” Mr Andrews croaked sarcastically, handing the bag to Mr Blackburn. They both started cackling maniacally. Susan had decided she had had enough at this point. They had angered her to the point her blood was fully boiled. Their little midnight gathering criminal party was over.

Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she hit the “flashlight” button and pointed it in the direction of the two men, who froze on the spot.

Suddenly spooked at this moment, a part of Susan’s mind knew that this could be the last thing she ever did, and was about to meet the same fate as Amy and all the other victims before her.

“HIGGINSON!” Mr Andrews bellowed, echoing around the woods.

Susan instinctively marched forward, with purposely heavy footsteps to try and give the appearance she was exuding with confidence, however, on the inside, she was shitting her pants.

“Reckon you’ve exposed us now, have you?” Mr Blackburn sneered. “Getting men arrested yesterday for stealing a car? Nice move. Too bad they couldn’t prove anything!” He spat. This caused the two men to burst out in cackles of evil laughter. Susan, however, was not amused by their cockiness.

“Aww, why the scowly face, Susie?” Mr Andrews mimicked. “Scared we’re gonna kill you next?”

“Tell me what’s in the trunk and I won’t call the police. I have an alibi this time; stolen goods. There’s no way that came from the school. Nor did any of the contents in there. So not only are you two murderers, but you also ROB the victim’s?!”

“You’re off your head, Higginson. People like you are the reason I had to close Harvard.”

“Why? Because you’re scared that if you didn’t someone else would catch you strangling or stabbing someone?!” Susan yelled.

“No, because we were afraid of this happening! Okay, we may be thieves, but I am certainly not the killer!” Mr Blackburn snapped.

“Higginson, you’ve got no proof, and you’re gonna get yourself into legal trouble if you don’t stop playing Detective here,” Mr Andrews laughed ghoulishly, causing Mr Blackburn to join in. What they didn’t realise amongst their fits of laughter, was that Susan had picked up a very heavy tree branch, and, not thinking about her actions, swung it with all her strength so that it knocked down the two men.

Dropping the stick, she heard the men grunt in pain, clutching their noses. Neither of them were knocked down. This gave Susan some time to run forward, grab the trunk and bolt towards Mr Blackburn’s latest stolen car. This was literally how she got him arrested, but at this point she didn’t give a shit. She just knew what she had to do. Just as she frantically put the key into the ignition, the two men had realised what had happened and were struggling to their feet.

“Get back here! You won’t get away with this, Higginson!” But she was already driving off with the trunk in the back seat. She was driving in the middle of the forest. It was dark. She was unlicensed. She had just committed a battery on two different people. She had just stolen a car. She had broken the law. But none of that mattered to her. All that mattered was getting the trunk to the police station.

***

She parked the stolen car outside of the Sherrif’s county office and brought the trunk inside. At this hour, the place was virtually empty, so it didn’t take long for an officer to come and see her.

***

“Unfortunately, Susan, Christian Blackburn was released yesterday as we could not prove that any of the murder inquiries linked to him. However, he was charged with car theft but was bailed out yesterday.”

“Bailed out by who? Was it Steven Andrews?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, I’m afraid. So, what is in this trunk?”

“Stolen goods, as far as I’m aware. Mr Andrews has got Mr Blackburn a little “business” so that he kills law students, and Mr Andrews robs the victims and gives the stolen goods to Mr Blackburn. I overheard them discussing their little business, and then I found them in the woods with this trunk, so I decided to take it here. It needs to be investigated.”

Two minutes later, Susan was sitting in a room with five officers, who were opening the large trunk. She was watching, shakily sipping a glass of water. Suddenly, as the lid was lifted, she sidled over to the table and gasped in horror at the amount of stolen goods that were in there. She was given a pair of gloves and started helping the officers shift through.

“Susan, maybe you can be of help to us in separating each victim’s belongings?” One suggested.

“I’m sorry sir, the only things I’ll be familiar with are things belonging to Amy Parker,” Susan choked on her words, feeling the tears again. But she chose to be strong, despite how difficult this was.

The most emotional part came when she pulled out a liquid eyeliner pen from a small plastic bag which was labelled “trash” inside the trunk. This liquid eyeliner was similar to Susan’s own. In fact, no. It was exactly the same. The label was a bit chipped off, but that was because of how old it was. At this point, Susan was thinking only one thing;

How in the hell could they label this trash?

“Susan?” A lady officer snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just remembering….”

The officer placed a hand on Susan’s shaky shoulders. “We understand what you’re going through, we really do, but this investigation cannot be emotionally orientated. If you give us any information, you must be factually sure. I am also very aware that you have extensive knowledge about the law already, which is why we encourage your help.”

“I know. But this eyeliner, it belonged to Amy. I even remember the day she tried it on. Her wings were always on fleek, but mine, I hadn’t ever worn it before so mine were a bit of a fail. I don’t usually tend to wear makeup that much, but sometimes, just… for Amy, y’know?”

The officer nodded, smiling. “Well have another dig through all this stuff and see if you can find anything else that belongs to Amy. Once we are done testing it for evidence, we will send it back to her family.”

“It has to be stuff she carried in her bag at all times. I remember she was carrying her bag on the day she was murdered.”

Suddenly, Susan saw and snatched Amy’s handbag, the one in which she was holding the last time she was seen alive. It had been emptied, and robbed of everything she carried in it. “How could they do this to her?” Susan cried out loud.

****

-time skip-

Anne wouldn’t stop crying that night, going over countless of Amy’s things. Susan stayed to comfort her, of course, and to help her sort out Amy’s valuables.

“You know, Susan…” she said in between sniffs. “I don’t think I can possibly keep any of this stuff, with her not being here anymore. It just reminds me of how much she suffered! I’ve already gotten rid of my copy of her autopsy report, because it’s basically a document telling me how my daughter was tortured in her last moments alive!”

“I understand, Anne. I really do. Obviously for scrutiny purposes, I’m going to keep my copy, but don’t think that it doesn’t upset me. It would be wrong of me to say I was hurting on the same level as you, as she was your only daughter,”

“No, no, no, Susie, you can’t think like that! You’ve been a good friend to Amy for years! She was always saying how much you supported her, through everything, and she loved you! You were important to her, Susie, and I think if the decision was placed in her hands, she’d want you to have everything in this bag,”

Susan hesitantly took the bag out of Anne’s fragile hands. “I don’t know if I can keep this either, but I understand what you mean when you say Amy would’ve wanted this. She wouldn’t want to cause you grief by holding onto this.”

***

That night, Susan decided to sort through the bag of Amy’s belongings. From makeup to old CDs that they used to listen to together, on their long summer drives, to a little friendship bracelet Susan had given her in 8th grade. There was even a white tank top that had blue stains all over it. Susan let out a single laugh, when she found this shirt. She remembered that day like it was yesterday. She and Amy had decided to go into town. It was freshman year, and they both had decided to skip school and go get some ice cream. When Susan mentioned a situation about a silly boy, Amy laughed just a little too hard, and... well, she got blueberry icecream all over her white shirt. Her mom was mad, of course, but to Amy, it was all one big light hearted joke. Everything was a light hearted joke to Amy.

Susan longed for it to be a light hearted joke for her too. But she couldn’t allow that. There were peoples lives at stake, and perhaps she could find an alternative clue in this bag. First, she pulled out what she believed to be Amy’s latest phone. She had the iPhone 8, and the screen was as cracked as Susan’s heart. It looked as if someone had smashed a hammer against it.

She tried switching the phone on, but of course, it needed a pass code, and it was freezing cold as it hadn’t been turned on in weeks.

In hope of finding something significant, Susan continued rummaging through the plastic bag. She pulled out a pair of earphones, the ones that Amy always had either in her ears or could be seen hanging out of her pocket. Susan remembered the times when they were both in class together and they got bored so Amy would put some music on her phone, and always give Susan one of her headphones, and they would have a discrete classroom party.

Amy’s purse was missing, of course. She should have guessed that Mr Andrews and Mr Blackburn would’ve taken it during their raid of her bag. Speaking of her bag - her school bag, that is - Susan worked her way around until she came to it, and looked inside, curious to see what exactly it was that the two men had taken, even if it was not of any value to them. She found Amy’s folder, and decided to pour through all the law work that she had done in class, just to see if Mr Blackburn had written anything that eluded to the fact he hated her. There was nothing that jumped out at Susan, in particular, however she did notice an array of criticisms on the essay she wrote on Mens Rea for Murder.

Such included, ‘Try not to use ongoing enquiries, you can use existing cases to stablilise your definition’

This was written when Amy had mentioned the current serial killer on the loose. She had mentioned the fact that repeated offences were evidence of direct Intention to murder. This probably pissed off Mr Blackburn; hence why he grew colder and colder towards her in the last few weeks of her life.

Susan emptied the handbag, and took out any folders, a hairbrush, and whatever makeup might have been in there.

Now, you’d think that once she removed all these things, she’d set the bag aside. But she didn’t. And she didn’t know why, either. It was as if something was controlling her hand, forcing her to dig back into the bag, and pull out a single tissue on its own. There was no packet, no other tissues, just one individual tissue, crumpled up and slightly muddy from being on the ground. However, there was one thing that really caught Susan’s attention. A stain on the corner of the tissue. The stain started off red, and then eventually turned to dark brown as it grew more inwards.

Confused, Susan peered inside the bag once more. And what she found, was absolutely terrifying...

***

To be continued....

HEADS UP: Hey! I know this was meant to be like a filler but it didn’t really turn out that way I guess, it was too eventful and I decided to lump a bunch of things together. What do you guys think was in the bag? Find out in the next chapter! Thank you for sticking with me (and Susan) on this journey for justice! Much love!

~ Talia

[chaosmagetwin]

South for the Summer: part 1

Spoiler Warning: Terrible things happen in this story. I do not apologize for them. Read at your own risk. Consider this your trigger warning too. Also, if you’ve watched “The Day After Tomorrow” this is set in the same universe.

"I'm here to take you away." His silky smooth voice sent shivers down my spine. Bronzed skin, green eyes, and chiseled abs stared at me from my doorway, a raging winter storm outside. He stepped forward as I leapt into his embrace. "My love, at long last, our winters end." He pressed ice cold lips against my own, slid freezing hands down my side to grip my ass, pressed his chiseled abs against me. Behind me, another man appeared. His face seemed blurred. His hands, too, slipped over my sides until i shivered with anticipation and cold alike. I suddenly realized my stomach was hot, and i looked down to see his massive throbbing - I jerked awake, my entire body shivering. I looked around, confused for a moment, then tapped the back of my head against the floor. "FUCK. I WAS THIS! close! Mittens, why!" The black and white cat with white paws yawned at me widely in answer, then purred as she snuggled in closer on my stomach in the sleeping bag. "Ugh." I cast a look around the room. The fire had died. Of course it had. My little one room shack wasn't much to look at. A few old textbooks sat on a shelf above a ratty looking bed. Five coats lay in a pile on the coach that sat only five feet away from the fire, boots sitting right at the center position on the floor. Between the couch and fire is where I slept, in a thick sleeping bag. A desk took up a small corner, next to which the fridge also sat. The litterbox, such as it was, sat next to the bed. The few decorations I once had were long gone, either burnt or gotten rid of for space. A cooking flame thrower stood next to the fireplace, with a flint and steel tool to light it right next to it. Two empty tin cans sat next to the fireplace, the paper burnt off and soot staining them. Light poured in from the window, which was open a scant half inch. I suddenly remembered the last night. I'd gotten too warm after a couple of whiskeys and opened the window in a fit of idiocy. Being alone did tend to lead to mistakes like that. I groaned and rubbed my sides inside the sleeping bag in an attempt to rub some heat in. I might as well have grabbed some ice for all it did. "Sorry, Mittens. I have to get up now." I slipped out of the sleeping bag as Mittens glared at me, refusing to get off me until she was nearly out of the sleeping bag as well. She yowled her complaints as i quickly got into the thick sweatpants, then the snowpants. I shut the window the rest of the way. "Last time I drink, I promise." I pulled on the first coat and opened the door. I hastily grabbed a few logs from outside and moved them inside. A few seconds of fiddling with the cooking torch later, and the logs were blazing. I sighed as heat burst forth into the room. I loved pine. It burns quick and hot, and it never smells bad. I moved over to the cabinet and looked inside. Two cans of beans, and maybe a quarter pound of rice. "Fuck..." I had to go on a scavenging trip. I pulled the cans of beans out and got the can opener. A year ago, and i would have been at a campus barbecue right now. My mouth salivated as I remembered hotdogs, burgers, and bread. I could almost taste the mustard, the crisp lettuce, the wet tomatoes. Or maybe I'd be at Pike Market. See a fish flying the air. Maybe buy one for a dinner. Not that it mattered anymore. Some people had said that the apocalypse would come with bombs. Or with global warming. Or maybe with demons and monsters and aliens, but those people were crazy. turns out everyone was wrong. The apocalypse came with cold. Massive storms that looked like hurricanes but froze everything instead of bringing rain. Scientists said that they brought the cold down from the upper stratosphere or something. Frankly, it all sounded like bullshit at the time. But then the storms hit. People evacuated. I wasn't a very smart person. I knew that when the radio said to not even bother getting out. Just bunker down and wait it out. So I did. The storm passed. Over the radio, I heard that help was on its way in the form of helicopters. I also heard that one of the scientists who had predicted the whole thing managed to save his son and a bunch of other people over in New York. I think they meant it as a sign of hope. I don't know if they ever actually sent those helicopters. Another storm hit the next day. Only this time, it was bigger than the last. The first month, it was pretty bad. Finding people standing in the streets. Frozen solid. They'd tried getting out of Seattle. After that, the radio didn't chirp too much. Maybe it was because they gave up hope. The super storms were hitting at least once every other week. Two hundred and fifty six days later, I still survived, though, mostly through stubburness and anger. And also determination to keep Mittens alive. I don't amount to much, really. Petite and weighing no more than 90 pounds soaking wet when I was in college, most people wouldn't look at me and say, "Yeah, she'll survive the apocalypse." I wouldn't have either. I'd lost weight since then. Bad diet, restricted food, and a lot of exercise in clothes that, all added together, probably weighed as much as I did. I finished my beans with a sigh and a stretch, enjoying the comfort warmth the fire brought. The last storm had been four days ago. It wouldn't show its ugly face for at least another two days. I went to my backback and checked its contents. Rope, nylon cording, wire, a flashlight, an ice pick for climbing, a combat knife, two pairs of socks and an extra set of thermal underwear. To last the next week, though, I'd need more than the little backpack could carry. The local reacreational sports store had already been emptied of its MRE's and other dried foods. Most of the grocery stores too. There was one that I knew of though that had supplies in the backroom. It would take a quarter day to reach, though. "Mittens, don't let the fire burn the house down!" I said jokingly as I slipped on an extra pair of socks and put on my boots. She gave a maow in return from inside the sleeping bag, sounding fairly less grumpy than she had when I got up. I pulled on a couple more coats. After the third, i felt like a ball of fuzz. After the fourth, I almost felt like I was cooking. I'd need it though. I pulled ski mask over my face, wrapped a scarf around my neck and face, and slipped the ends over my ears and under the finishing touch; a fur cap. I pulled a couple of the parka's hoods over that, slipped on a pair of heavy mittens, and stepped outside. Once outside, the cold actually felt good, in a biting sort of way. Despite the layers, it bit into anything that didn't have at least three layers, which meant my face hurt. At least most everything else was warm though. I shambled over to the sled. It was a childs wooden sled, old and rickety, but I had made a few modifications over the months. Now it looked more like a badly made sled pulled by huskies. A rope stretched in front of it, a plastic handle almost buried in the snow. Leaning against the wall of my home, next to the sled, was a stick, a knife glued and taped to the end to make a makeshift spear. Luckily, it was fairly sturdy. With sled in tow and spear in hand, I headed for the west side of Seattle. Two hours later of trecking over hills and sliding down the other side, i arrived at the grocery store; Tom's Grocer. The shelves were all empty, which I expected. "I sure hope there isn't anyone in here," I called out from the doorway. "I would sure hate to stab someone." There wasn't any response from the room and i looked around, carefully eying the ground. I'd run into some traps meant for people a few times before. One had stabbed a knife into my thigh right into the bone. I'd been lucky. If it'd gone almost anywhre else, i could have died from any number of things; a cut artery, ruined tendon, cut nerves. Even still, without some medicine I had found on that trip, I probably would have died from infection. At least there weren't any traps that I could see this time. I stepped carefully into the grocery, holding the tip of my spear in front of me and took waddling steps forward, trying to be stealthy in my mass of clothes. It didn't matter in the end, because no one was there. I made it to the door that led to the backroom easily, and opened it carefully, still keeping an eye out for traps. The backroom was mostly empty. When I had been here last, it had a few more boxes, but the four I saw in front of me still had my handwriting on them to label them for what they were; a box of beans, a box of peas and carrots, and two boxes of one pound bags of rice. A quick glance around told me there was nothing else. I poked the boxes with the spear, curious to see if there was a weight tap, but nothing happened. I let out a sigh. "Paranoia is getting the best of me..." I picked up a box with a struggle. It was full. All of them were. Eight minutes later, and the last box was on the little sled, with nylon cord wound around it  and tied off to keep it from falling off. If it weren't for the modifications to bring the sides up, it probably wouldn't have helped much. I stared at the sled for a moment, doing some calculations in my head. I was probably around eighty pounds of food there. It didn't make much difference to the snow that was closer to solid ice these days, but it would to me. I checked my boots, eying the small steel claws I had added to them to give myself more grip. They weren't meant to be there. Would they hold up under the extra weight? As I thought, i moved back into the grocery, and found a large piece of cardboard someone had left behind when going through boxes. I slipped my mittens off and pulled out a permanent marker from one of the many pockets available to me on the outermost parka. "Emptied Out." I put it in the window. "There. Now people are less likely to waste their time here..." With me sitting at, probably, seventy five pounds these days, my clothes somewhere in the range of another fifty, my backpack around twenty, and the sled sitting somewhere near ninety pounds, I was looking at lugging two hundred and thirty pounds, including myself. I grimaced. That was not a good weight to be going up a hill with at my size. It wasn't going to get any easier, though. With my mittens back on, I stepped back outside and picked up the spear and the rope. When I reached the first hill, my muscles were already burning, and my breath was coming hard. "FUCK! YOU! SEATTLE! FUCK! YOUR! HILLS!" The screams came with each step, shoving steel toe claws into the ice that threatened to send me back to the bottom. The ice pick slammed into the snow ahead of me between the shouts, and tears sprung from my eyes as I pulled with my entire strength to go even a single step. The rope dug into my hips, as I used it as an impromptu harness."HARGGHHHHHH!" The shouting grunt came as I crest the hill. Several more followed until the sled made it over as well. I fell to my side, crying in pain. The first hill, and everything was already flame and ice at the same time. Wind blasted my face, and the sled slipped back slightly. "NO!" I pulled on the sled, pulling it closer to me. "NO! I REFUSE!" I got up and pushed onwards towards the descent side of the hill. I looked down as wind pushed on me, and for a moment everything swayed. A hasty step for balance later, and I noticed there was a rash of cars at the bottom. If i let the sled just slide down, it would crash right into them, breaking the sled and making the rest of the trip impossible. "Nooooo...." my voice was a soft cry to the noonday sun. I turned around and slammed the teeth into the ice again. I needed to get home with this food. I pushed the sled down and let it slide until it jerked against me. I let out a grunt as it nearly pulled my boots out of their grip, and even with the teeth i slid nearly ten inches. I grit my teeth and took a breath so I could let it out when i slammed the ice pick into the ground once more. By the time i reached the bottom, everything was numb, and the sun had noticeably shifted position. Thirst had turned my mouth into sand, my tongue swollen and aching. I had reached the bottom, though. I tiredly scooped some snow from the hood of a car and shoved it into my mouth. I winced as I crushed the near-ice with my teeth, and I almost spit it out as it began melting, the cold pure pain making everything taste like blood. A few shaky breathes later, and it was mostly melted, and I enjoyed the water it provided for a few moments. I waited until the rest was melted before sticking another chunk of snow in and beginning the walk towards the next hill. This one wasn't as tall as the last, but it would be an ache to get up as much as the first. Even slight grades were troublesome with ice, and the steep hills of Seattle were deadly. This time, I tackled it with a rhythm. Step and breath, ice pick slam and exhale. Step and breath, ice pick slam and exhale. This time when I reached the top, there was slightly less fire in my lungs, but i was near certain my limbs were being dipped in vats of acid. A look down this hill showed it was clear. "YES!" I almost did a victory fist pump, but then I remembered that i sitll had probably another three hills to go over. I let out a sigh instead. That took almost all the fun out the moment. I laid on my back and pushed the sled down the hill, letting it tug me over the edge as well. For a few moments, all I did was watch the blue sky above, the lightest of clouds softly moving from one side of my vision to the other as I slid down the hill. It was peaceful, a sort of moment of blissful relaxation. Then I hit a bump halfway down the hill. Before I could even yell, I was in the air, limbs flailing as I tried to find some sort of purchase. The ground came into view and I reflexivly winced as my legs and chest slammed into the ground. My chin followed shortly, knocking my teeth together. I woke up a short time later, everything aching again, but especially my chin. I carefully tested movement in my toes, then my feet, then my legs and fingers, and finally my arms and back. Nothing injured permanently there. No broken bones. I would have sighed in relief if my chin didn't hurt so much. I carefully pulled the mitten off my right hand, and lightly touched my chin. I flinched when I felt something rough, until I remembered it was my scarf. Hesitantly, I pulled it off, and carefully lifted the ski mask. A second feel told me it was swollen. Tears sprung from my eyes once more as I tried to move my jaw. It creaked, but it wasn't broken. Thank god. I ran my tongue over my teeth next, and tasted blood. I'd nicked my own tongue with my teeth, but after a thorough checking of each tooth, I was relieved to find not a one had broken. There wasn't exactly a dentist to fix anything. I got up carefully and looked at the sled. It had taken the bump far better than I had; it was still on the skids, instead of its side. I sighed with care to my now sore jaw and put everything back in its place so I could stay warm. I might not feel the cold at the moment, but that was dangerous. Exhaustion and pain was numbing me to most of the cold. Sweat certainly wasn't helping, chilling me more than I'd like. But I was still three hills and a bridge away from home. I grabbed the rope and began the trek to the next hill, tired muscles straining. The short rest had helped, even if it had been spent unconcious.