The Perfect Story by E. L. Gross (Part One)

   The white storm was unrelenting as the wind whistled and whipped unremittingly at his frozen ears. Snow had begun to cling to his eyelashes making it harder and harder to blink. He had given up on removing the heavy falling snow from his face since his gloves already coated with the heavy slush made it worse. Each step forward, grew heavier and heavier, making his legs ache and his body grow increasingly more tired.  The backpack he wore was becoming substantially heavier under the weight of all this snow. The path he had been following had disappeared hours ago and now he pressed slowly forward through the blinding whiteness, hoping and praying for the road or a camping hut to appear before him. The layer of sweat that had originally been keeping him warm was now chilling his body and dulling his senses. If he could just sit for a moment and rest but the raging storm around him would not permit an opportunity.

  This was going to be his breakthrough into the book publishing industry. All he wanted to do was publish the perfect story before he turned thirty-five next year. He had gotten this great idea in his head six months ago about a man's journey northwest through the woods right after the Civil War. He planned for it to contain all the special ingredients, excitement, adventure, mystery and a bit of romance. He had already completed much of his research but this trip through the woods would give him the feel he was missing for living in the great outdoors.

  Everything had started out so flawlessly when John decided to take this camping trip through the Notch. His boss at the Verizon store let him have his two weeks of vacation later in the year. The man at the outdoor store was extremely helpful in packing his backpack. The writing was going smoothly so far and he knew this trip would be the clincher in getting the details correct.

  He had done overnighters before with friends climbing the trails and heading home the next afternoon, but this was his first trip alone. He had checked the weather, which was supposed to stay cool but calm. Now here he was caught in the middle of a blizzard and it wasn't even mid October.

  Things had turned bad yesterday when he had lost his footing on the trail and slid quite a ways down a slope that lead to a small pond. He managed to stop the skid but not before his legs entered the water. Trying to wiggle out of his backpack, he slid on a rock and again lost his footing and fell back first full into the pond. Dragging his wet body and soaked backpack out of the water, he made the last miserable mile to the campers hut where he was able to get his things partially dry. He hadn't run into any other campers and for the first time since he had started his trip three days ago, he felt as if he had made a terrible mistake.

  The wind and snow tore at his body as it tried to push him backwards. Gritting his teeth, he leaned ever so slightly forward hoping this would detract  the onslaught of the storm, but this lessened his gaze of the evil white goblin trees that were perfectly camouflaged in this wintery mess. His hands and feet were on fire with prickly cold and he kept trying to wiggle his fingers and toes as he trudged on.

  For a fleeting second, he thought he caught a whiff of burning wood. "I'm going insane," he thought. There was no way he would be able to smell anything out here in this storm, not with the wind blasting and ripping at him from every direction.

  John tripped over something under the snow and managed to keep his balance by grabbing for the closest tree trunk. Although the trunk saved him from falling in the shin deep snow, it did deposit a large clump of snow onto his hat and shoulders. The snow on the tip of the coats neckline slid into the warmer folds to his neck and made him cry out in anguish. His leg muscles were burning, making each step forward seem like his last.

  He could not go any further. He knew his body was shutting down from the cold. If he just sat down, right here in the snow, he could mercifully go to sleep and let the elements have their way. He had read that with hyperthermia, there was pain at first, but as your body froze your mind took over and put you quietly to sleep. The pain had already started, so maybe he was already halfway frozen.

  The smell of burning wood hit him full in the face like that of ammonia being waved under someone's nose after fainting. He peered through his ice-crusted eyelashes but could only see the white torrents pelting back and forth. Pushing harder forward, he heaved his throbbing legs ahead one-step at a time. Then he saw the outline of the snow-covered shack. He saw the curling fingers of smoke climbing out of the small chimney. It was twenty feet away but he had made it. Warmth and safety from the storm lay straight ahead.

  With all his might, he willed his legs to keep going. His breathing was erratic and dizziness began to swirl about him like a drunkard. Stretching his arms painstakingly forward, he reached for the door jam and pulled his body closer like a lead weight. With enormous relief, John coughed, sputtered, and then slid to the ground.

Stay tuned for Part Two
(copyright 2012 E. L. Gross)