Siberia by Will Allen

Suddenly I woke up.

My head was rooted in the Siberian arctic wasteland. My body was lodged between two razor-sharp glaciers of ice. Cautiously, I levitated to my feet and took my first glance at my boreal surroundings.

Hell on earth!

All around me were vast amounts of snow, intense and white as a dove on a humid summers´ day.

I peered to my left to find white, thick fog settling upon the desolate ground like a pack of distant wolves.

Gradually I trekked forwards, locked in my hefty, decrepit boots, which made a booming sound as I stumbled along.

Boom! Boom!

Unfortunately, the durable winter coat I was wearing had become tarnished due to the harsh, brutal conditions.

I was wearing thermal, roomy attire which danced in the howling wind as I stuttered onwards. The agile gusts ripped through my skin like a round of machine gun bullets. Nothing could protect me.

I continued on my lengthy journey in the crisp air and under the illuminating sun with a decreasing wedge of optimism about escaping this abandoned sheet of death.

All I could smell was the vile stench of rotting fish left behind by deadly predators, who seemed thankfully to not be near. The gruesome odours caused me nausea. I reached into my pocket for my crumpled handkerchief to prevent myself from being sick onto the snow.

Unanticipated, in tremendous agony, I screamed for help.

Looking ahead I noticed a rigid building that I thought could aid my condition.

I whimpered towards it.


The energetic, blizzarding winds forced me to enter the eerie cabin that seemed to have fallen in at one end due to the ruthless conditions. Like lightning, the gusts soared through my brittle skull and thundered down my delicate spine, almost causing death itself.

Haltingly, using the little strength I had, I attempted to prise open the gargantuan gnarled door that was as heavy as a ponderous wave lost in the middle of the ocean. Inside, I protected my exhausted body from being persecuted by this cruel world any further. Upon entering, I instantly noticed a large amount of extravagant ornaments glistening in the beaming light behind me. These swayed left-right, left-right, like some malicious Egyptian ritual.

To my right was a lengthy note written in ink as dark as night, left on a dilapidated wooden desk, abandoned by the previous owner of the ghostly cabin.

This stated that unexpected circumstances had forced the writer to leave the area and that the cabin door would be left ajar. Frozen to the core, I hunted for some warmth, imaging a blazing log fire, that might cure my bitter symptoms.

From outside, the cabin was broad but seemed to expand inside, as the damp, dismal walls made the interior grow, like an optical illusion.

I peered out of the skinny window, which was directly ahead of me, and saw a lonesome oak tree which might have been a skyscraper in the heart of a city, whispering secret conversations to its surroundings.

I heard a deafening scream in the room beside my location.

Knowing something, feeling something innately, I went back inside.