Ah Monday. I hope everyone survived the snows and storms. We had a quiet weekend at home figuring it was best to just let everyone else go crazy on their own and just stay out of their way. I also made brownies. I know, exciting highlight right. I did also read The Cold Song by Linn Ullmann. It was a good read. But today we write. Let’s start with waking up the brains with a morning prompt. Deep breath now, I know the cold makes the joints stiff and creaky, think of this as brain bends. Does nothing for you waistline but knocks the stiffness right out of those crinkled gray matter bits. Fifteen Minutes, no stopping to edit, just write.
I like the thought of an outsider trapped with a tight knit group. It has so many possibilities. Not quite sure where this is going, but I like it as a concept.
Monday, January 22nd: He used the belt as a tourniquet.
He used the belt as a tourniquet. It was something he had only seen in movies and to his surprise it seemed to be working. He hid his surprise from the others as he stepped away. Carl’s blood coated his hands and he went to the sink to wash them. This cabin didn’t have much, but it did have running water. The storm knocked out the power lines taking the central hearing and lighting, but the water still ran and they managed to get the firewood to burn in the grate.
Pete nodded to himself as he washed his hands. There was no soap available so he scrubbed them together trying to get as much blood off as possible. The water was icy cold and numbed his hands as he worked. Inside he already felt numb.
Thus far they avoided panic. When Carl was injured it looked as though everyone would lose their minds and Carl would die. Pete didn’t have much medical knowledge but hopefully he managed to hold off death until the emergency services could make it to them. They were slow because of the storm. Flooding and several downed trees stood in the way. But help was coming.
Pete was fairly certain that the knowledge of help on the way rather than his own contributions was stemming the tide of panic. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Deciding he managed to get as much blood off as possible, Pete turned off the water and reached for the towel. As he dried his hands he turned back to th room. The others, including Carl, were huddled by the fire. They were calm but looked too tired to panic now anyway.
He didn’t know them, not really. He was in the same class with them and was assigned to this small group as part of their field collection team. Until the assignment as a small group, he had not actually talked to any of them and truthfully he tended to forget their names. He knew that outside of the class they spent most of their time together. He gathered from the start of the project onwards that they were a pretty tight group. There were just only five of them and class numbers dictated it was a group of six. And so he was taken from his group of friends and added to theirs to make up the numbers.
He anticipated doing the project, completing his part and never seeing them again. It was supposed to be an easy four hours on the mountain. While they knew of the storm, they expected to be long gone before it hit.
‘It was also supposed to be less severe.’ Pete let the thought go. Carl was monitoring the storm. The others agreed but he suspected it was because they didn’t want to be bothered more than trust in Carl. He said it was fine so they accepted it. Pete knew getting angry wouldn’t help so he set it to the side.
He was well versed in doing what needed to be done and saving his emotional response for when he was alone. His father was old school when it came to emptions. They were something to be felt, not something to be shared. It was why they were called feelings and not talkings. It was one of his father’s favorite sayings. Pete hung the damp towel on the edge of the sink to dry.
Ten til Midnight 