Hard Choices

• Lucas Bouwman, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

The cold air rushed through the smouldering wreckage now scattered across a rocky outcrop, high up somewhere in the mountains. It had been hours, maybe days since the crash, I had forgotten. All the large fires had died out but there were still small pockets here and there. Nevertheless, there was little warmth anywhere, the icy air having taken control of the plane and combined with the pilot’s death wish, they sentenced us all to death. Except me. I knew I was the only survivor and doubted anyone would hear my story. I fear I’ll never escape this eternal prison, the jagged shard of metal crushing my left arm would make sure of that.
I continued to search the perimetre I could reach, hoping to find something to keep me alive. I had already stolen from the dead but if it wasn’t for them, I would have frozen long ago. I was careful not to extinguish the small and pathetic fire I had nurtured, my only heat source. As I dug through the thick, white snow, my hard, worn out hand felt nothing as they were already numb form previous searching. I hadn’t felt anything, anywhere for a long time, just the constant rumbling from within but even that had become all too familiar and normal. I had exhausted all resources from the site, there was nothing left, well nothing I could reach. I was going to die here. I was dying, wilting away. I felt I was already dead…but I kept digging.
I dug and I searched, hoping for something new, something I hadn’t noticed before. Just more junk, garbage and nothing else. I had now built a fortress around me, made from the snow I built up, now nearly half a metre high, all around me like an igloo. I searched everywhere except where my trapped arm was. I could not reach under there, seeing as this was all done by my right arm. At least it was my good hand. There was a small pile of rubbish to my side, all the empty packets of food I had eaten and the junk I found, like a few sheets of scorched and ripped curtain. I kept looking. I started searching a new spot, when suddenly my hand was cut by something out of my view. Sharp and jagged, I probed the area around it, being careful not to further injure myself. I started pulling at whatever it was, ripping it out and digging around it until it gave way. I yanked it up in front of my face, still covered in ice. It was a serrated piece of metal, probably wreckage from the plane. Useless…or not.
I had no idea! I had no other choice. I would be stuck here until someone found me, IF someone found me. This was my only chance and, as much as I hated it, I had to do it. If I didn’t, I would surely die. I probably will die anyway but my survival instinct were strong. Do what it takes to prevail. I would not die her, not today, not like this. My story should be told, these people’s disappearance brought to light. I grabbed some scraps of cloth, wrapped them around my trapped arm, at the point it was weakest. I gathered the other scraps I had, began tying them together, wrapping ice in them and soaking them. I pulled back my shirt, around to half way between my elbow and shoulder. I grabbed a bit of plastic and stuck it in between my teeth. I bit hard. If this worked, I could finish searching the wreckage and find some resources, supplies. The piece of metal I had was heating up in the fire, taking all of its heat for itself. I raised it up, brought it over my imprisoned arm and struck. Up and down, again and again. This was the only way. I would do this or die trapped here. I needed someone to hear this story. I wasn’t going to die! I would survive. You know the old saying, ‘It will cost you an arm and a leg’ well at least I still had both my legs.