whiteout

The blackouts were more frequent now, and the worst part of it was that there was little or no warning, before he found himself encased in darkness.

Gradually conciousness returned pushing back the darkness,
his brain felt fuzzy like a ball of cotton wool, and his skull felt as if it had been cleft in two.
He tried to focus his eyes, they ached all the way back to the base of his skull.

When full awareness returned he found himself lying on his back, his skin felt clammy, and his body shook uncontrolably.

he tried three times, to get himself to a sitting position but found that the only thing he could move was his head. Laying flat on his back his chest was heaved with he effort of having tried over the past two or three minutes, to get to a siting position.

He turned his head one way and then the other,wherever he looked everything was white with no relief of any kind to break it.

He tried desperately to recall how he had come to be in the position of being unable to move,he certainly could not remember having taken a fall of any kind.

His arms and legs appeared to be pinned by his side,perhaps he waslying in a crevasse of some kind as the walls surrounding him rose up sheer and vertical, they were smooth, and did not appear to have hand or toe grips.This would appear to put paid to that theory.

Overhead the glare of what he assumed was the sun hurt his eyes, heighening the pain at the base of his skull. Judgeing by its intensity he could not be far from the surface.

But the surface of what?

He had not climbed in the mountains in years...or had he?

He made a concerted effort to recall his last concious thoughts before the blackout claimed him, he could recall a strugle of sorts, but with whom or what?
The fuzziness in his head returned once more, confusing him further.

At first he thought he was imagineing things,straining his ears and listened intently...No,there it was again, voices, they sounded faint far away,perhaps carried by the wind.

Perhaps he had been out climbing after all and had fallen, and someone had reported him missing, and now they were out looking for him.

He had to try to attract whoever it was in case they passed him by. he tried rolling noto his side, parhapes that way he could get to his feet.

He struggled for a few minutes, something seemed to be pinning him down, perhaps he had been caught in an avalanche.
"What the hell is holding me down he asked himself?

"Perhaps i fell through a snow bridge and my back is broken,perhaps that's the reason i can't move".

"No, it can't be that, as i don't have any pain".

Again the sound of voices reached his ears, they sounded closer now, but still unintelligable. Nevertheless the thought that someone was looking for him gave him a lift.

Taking a deep breath he he yelled at the top of his voice, "hey...i'm here down here".

HELP he yelled..dragging the word out, elongating it untill he ran out of breath.

He lay there breathing hard, listening for a response to his call for help...nothing.

He shivered he felt cold, there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his skin felt clammy.

What little assurance he had gained from hearing the sound of voices earlier had now dissapated, leaving him dejected.

He tried shouting once more,louder this time, untill his throat hurt.

He was sobbing now;the tears running down his face soaked his neck, "don't leave me here he sobbed over and over,i'm down here"

Suddenly the voices were very close now,almost on top of him.

He laughed hysterically relief flooding through his body.

"Alright Mr Simpson a womans voice said in his ear,we'll have you out of here shortly, and into a nice warm bed".

Somewhare in his subconciouss he wondered how they had got him out and onto the streacher, and why did the srteacher have wheels.

Someone covered him with a blanket; "it won't be long now Mr Simpson the same voice said softly, soon have you tucked up in safely bed."

He felt what seemed like straps being loosened along the length of his body, "saftey strapes" he said to himself to stop me falling off the strecher.Hands lifted him onto a bed.

The fog in his brain had all but cleared,he found himself looking into the face of a pretty nurse dressed in a crisp white uniform.

She placed a cool white sheet over his body and smoothed it out,it was then that he caught a glimpse of the legend sewed on her breast pocket...Smithson Psychiatric Hospital.

As she left his bedside she could be heard to say to an older colleague, "i'm glad that part is over, i really hate it".

"Hate what the other said absent-mindedly".

"Plugging poor souls like him into the national grid she replied...its barbaric.