The biting cold makes every breath burn. I can feel my body slowly starting to shut down. The snow is still piling up, not the soft, crisp fields those beautiful memories show me, but the harsh, white powder that will inevitably bring my death as it whips by, stinging by bared flesh. I haven't been able to walk for a while now, limited to crawling and dragging myself on. A fruitless task at that anyway, thousands of miles from anywhere. Cold and alone I may die, but at least there's no one counting on me. Thank you for that last little touch. Telling my friends I beat you, real classy.

I'm sure it's erased by now, but I pissed something in the snow for you.

"Fuck you."