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Freezing The Nether Regions
Blimey it’s cold. That’s the first thing that pierces the paralysis of utter shock. I’m not clutching a plastic bag, the umbrella’s not hanging on my nose, oh and hey, I’M NOT IN THE PARK ANYMORE.
There was a blinding flash alright, but I don’t see a handsome prince anywhere. All I see is trees, but did I mention, I’M NOT IN THE PARK ANYMORE.
And it’s bleeding freezing. I’ve already lost feeling in my nether regions. Stamping my feet and slapping my arms around my body, whilst I turn a full circle, does absolutely no good against impending frostbite. It does, however, prove I am truly in another world or, at least, a different part of mine.
Huge swathes of snow coat the entire area, which appears to be half way up a mountain range, judging by the wind’s icy touch and the view straight down onto a mighty forest below. It’s the sort of landscape served up in award-winning photos or sales pitches for climbing Everest, although I can still breathe, so I can’t be that high. It’s stunningly beautiful in a ‘what the **** am I doing here?’ sort of way.
At 270 degrees of turn I find myself facing the setting sun, or maybe rising, I’m not sure yet, but the shadows and pale pink tint creeping across the mountain peaks are nothing short of heavenly - if I wasn’t turning into an icicle. I can’t see a living soul anywhere, the only sounds being the wind hustling through naked trees and the rustle of small animals burrowing through the snow in the undergrowth.
Those shadowy fingers lengthen as the sun drops lower in the sky and the glare of golden rays makes my eyes water. No footprints or animal tracks mar the pristine white blanket, telling me no-one has passed through here. I’m utterly alone and whilst I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember, I’ve previously suffered desertion under a nice warm roof, not left out in the wilderness.
How the heck did I get here? Right. I stood on a spot vacated by a toilet and Once Upon a Timed. Might have known that was trouble. After all, I’ve been to Whitby. I’m lucky I didn’t start the story in a pit of snakes or a vampire ridden castle. Anyway, before I freeze to death, or get eaten by something lurking in the forest, I’d best figure out how to get home.
With ice cold air stinging my throat, I announce, “Once upon a time, the woman wanted to go home.”
Nothing. Wind whistling and snow soaking through the anorak constitutes the only change. Erm...
“The book took her home.”
Nope.
“There was a flat in Clapham Junction.”
Fine. Stories don’t start like that.
“The snow disappeared and she went home in a flash.”
She didn’t, and ninety nine permutations on a theme don’t work either, so she tries screeching, “I want out of here!”
Don’t we all? replies the population of Planet Earth and goes back to worn out slippers and a toasted muffin.
Maybe it won’t work because the book isn’t here. That thought sends my stomach sinking into my frozen boots. Unless I can snap my fingers and make the book appear, that’s wasted worry. And yes, I snap my fingers just in case. All I get is agony shooting through cryogenically preserved fingertips.
It’s about now that self-preservation should kick in, listing priorities in order of importance: to wit, shelter and food. I’m a modern, independent woman of my time, able to vote, study and take care of myself, weathering crises and exuding bravery.
So, I cry until tears freeze my eyelids shut.
Sometime later, after I prise my eyes open, I’m back where I started: an ice statue depicting modern angst with one palm on her face and the other stretched out as if to say, ‘not today, thank you.’
Oh, for pity’s sake, get a grip. I need a drink. A double whisky would hit the spot, washed down with three bottles of wine, but I suppose I’d best start with water. I remember watching one of those survival shows where they sucked snow. Handful of the white stuff down the mush it is...
Great, my tongue’s gone numb.
Maybe I should try heading down the mountain. I might find some shelter on the way.
* * *
Staggering through the forest for what feels like hours has got me... I’ve no idea where. Those lengthening shadows dissolved into twilight and soon it’ll be dark. I’m shivering, knackered, starving and even beginning to fantasise about being back at my lovely warm office eating sausages on sticks. God help me, I’m delirious.
“Help!” escapes my mouth with a gust of desperation. “Someone help me. Is there anyone there?” I sound like I’m summoning the local ghost.
An echoing howl rolls across the mountainside and I freeze on the spot. It’s a wolf, not a Tyrannosaurus Rex; standing still isn’t going to save me. The lone howl barely fades to a whisper before thunderous growling precedes a pack of bears charging out of the trees, heading straight for me.
I don’t know whether I’m supposed to run from grizzlies but, given the sight of six roaring muzzles and a flurry of claws attached to tons of brown fur hurtling down on me, my survival instinct disappears in favour of stark terror. I turn, run/wade through two feet of snow and fall flat on my face. Scrambling forward on hands and knees tips me over the edge of a steep incline and the snow drops away. Arms and legs flail in all directions as the short flight ends in a soft drift landing and a gathering roll. Stars and snow whirl round with increasing speed, like being trapped in a washing machine spin cycle. I could swear that I catch revolving glimpses of a line of bears, peering over the edge of the incline and grumbling at each other.
Slamming up against tree bark brings the circus to a close in a shower of snow and a hefty bruise to my shoulder. My stomach pops up to say hello to my throat as watering eyes uncross and squint against the blur. That line of curious bears lets rip with a harmonised chorus of roars and starts poking at the incline with gigantic paws, testing the edge.
Winded or no, I find my feet and take off running, glancing over my shoulder to check if I’m being hunted down. A soaked, shivering wreck hurtles through the trees, knees wobbling and breath wheezing louder and louder. I fancy I see a flash of brown fur in the gathering darkness and push my shattered lungs even harder.
Thud.
The rebound off the stationary tree is jarring to say the least. I lay flat on my back with a bent nose, reminding myself why it’s best to look where you’re going.
“Owww,” I’m moaning, until the tree slams a palm over my mouth and hisses straight down my ear.
“Quiet. Unless you want to get killed by a bear.”
