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When disasters strike around every corner,
is it possible to have a happily-ever-after?
The crunch of the shovel pounding into the snow and ice filled his ears. It was all he could hear. The rest of the street was silent beneath its wintry blanket. Breathing was difficult with the icy air clogging his lungs. His nose burned. His throat was dry and on fire. But he ignored it, focusing on his task.
Crack, crack, crack.
He jabbed the shovel into a hunk of snow. On the third hit, it shattered into several pieces. He scooped them up and flung them to the side. He surveyed what remained. There was one big ball in the middle of the path that needed to be dealt with next. He moved over to it and struck it. That one impact had it severing in two. He was about to hit it again when something crashed into the back of his head.
Explosions of white light danced over his vision. Pain enveloped his skull.
The shovel slipped from his fingers. Blackness cloaked his mind, coaxing him into its depths.
Beth. Her name was a whisper in his head, as if his thoughts were being sucked into a wormhole.
His legs collapsed under his weight.
Cold. It seeped into him, consuming him. And then his consciousness fled down that same void that ate his thoughts.
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