Ice Knife [Day 182]

ICE CREPT UP her arm. Biting down a yelp of pain, she glanced at the black curled fingers and swollen red welts on her forearm. But that wasn’t quite right, she amended, squinting through the never-ending fury of snow. Her fingers were a deep violet, like velvet, skin crystallized with cold dead tissue. Her forearm had a ridge of white showing through, as if it was trying to rise from the pink puckered flesh and the red tender skin that burned on its edges. Especially at the bottom. Grinding her teeth, she fumbled for her knife. Solid steel with a hefty mountain oxen horn handle. It would do the work nicely. 


Written: 23 March 2016

Words: 111

Inspired: a dream I had before I woke up

A/N: none of this accurate, it’s just how it looked it my dream.

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