3. Dream Interlude (And What Happened After It)
"…the Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them; there ought to be as many for love." -Margaret Atwood
Arnold felt himself being thrown backwards by the force of the blast. Heat, more intense than anything he had ever felt, enveloped him. He felt searing pain all over his body, mostly his face.
He also felt Helga's fingers tight in his, heard her scream being ripped from her lips as they hurtled backwards through the air.
They hit something hard, rolled, dropped from something. They were being tossed in a sea of pain. Arnold couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything…all there was was feeling. Pain. Heat and blows from all sides.
They landed in something cool. Snow. Arnold's pain-clouded mind worked that one little detail out. Cold softness was snow.
He could still feel Helga's fingers, still hear her ragged, uneven breathing. He crawled to her as best he could, touched her face with his raw fingers. Her image swam into focus before him, her hair singed but her face somehow lovely, though contorted in pain. Her lips mouthed his name before blackness overcame him again.
Arnold let his head fall on Helga's chest. The snow was a soft, cool blanket. Was this death? If so, it was far more comfortable than he would have imagined. He felt himself sinking, sinking deeper and deeper into the snow and Helga and unconsciousness. As he fell through the layers of the conscious world, he drifted into something…a memory? A dream? He was too far gone to even wonder. The pain faded away as he let himself go…