Pain, self-injury for a purposeWord Count:
She walked further into the cold.
However strong her will, she could not stop the shivers that racked her body or the instinctive clench of her arms around herself. Her fingers, wrapped around bare skin, could feel the miniscule bumps that the chill had raised all along her arm. The wind caressed her gently with icy fingers.
Physical sensation bombarded her mind, binding her fast to the earth even as she strove to soar beyond it. One—step—at a time.
She dropped to her knees in the snow. Her shoulders curled forward, of their own accord, acting sensibly to minimize her exposure. She could not stop one moment of weakness, clinging to even that scrap of protection, and then another—gritting her teeth as an excuse—before arching her body back, allowing the death cold to enter her freely. Her arms, in the motion of being flung out, jerked as the cold landed to feast on every part of her body, a flock of birds, a stabbing of knives, before she managed to continue and force her hands down on, into the snow. They thankfully numbed quickly. Her mind danced wildly among the field of pain that was her body, skipping here and there, no looming tower of particular agony to hold her attention.
She turned her head up toward the sky, an almost uniform blue-gray, and gulped in huge breaths of needles that stabbed at her throat and lungs. In, out, in out cold out in cold cold.I give up my body. I place myself in your hands.
(Do not abandon me.)