Well it's been a long time, so I thought having actually learnt something about creative writing that I should actually consider writing a complete story this time (sorry for everyone that followed my previous stuff, I do intend on getting round to redoing some of it: same plot but better written now I know much more about this whole writing malarky ;) ). This is just a short introduction to something I've been dreaming up for a while, all feedback is very welcome as always. Hope you enjoy :D
It was cold.
To be more specific, it was damned cold.
And really, that's all the girl in the blizzard could take in as she waded through the snow. Snow that easily came up to her thighs, snow that had already soaked through her jeans to the point that the sheer coldness of it all was about everything her chilled mind could process. Occasionally, this was interspersed with moments of greater lucidity, where other thoughts like "where the hell am I?" and "I'm going to die out here" could glance off of her mind like the hunks of ice the blizzard sent grazing off of her cheeks.
She was unsure of so much; she had no idea how long she had been trapped in the storm, even less of an idea of how she had got there in the first place. Time in the storm somehow seemed meaningless, to the point where not only was the passage of a minute akin to several days, but she also had a strange feeling that the direction of time was questionable as well. The 4th dimension of the universe seemed to not only to be unsure how fast it should be moving, but in which direction, flipping around indecisively like a weather vane in a gale. She put this feeling down, like most things, to the cold and the savage winds, blowing frost into her coordination and perspective. She tried pulling her hood up again but the wind once again immediately yanked it down to the back of her neck. Her gloveless hands, rattling in protest, quickly darted back to their lodgings in the frontal pocket of her hoodie.
She was also unsure, she decided, if the iron taste in her mouth was the cold, or blood from her shredded lips, where the skin had peeled back like the petals of some gory flower. She tried to lick them to soothe them, regretted it, and carried on wandering through the snow...