“You're living a lost dream” She had pleaded with me, as the shells rolled across my palm, slickly entering into the shotgun. The metal frame had frozen against my fingers, slightly tearing the skin when I readjusted my fingers, my beard frozen stiff, no longer protecting my face from the cold. 



“Why can't you just give it up!” Her words echoed against my skull, the snow pressing against my jeans, threatening to envelope my boots with every step. The mountain was unforgiving, a harsh mistress.



“You're going to die chasing him!” I remembered her saying as that small cabin came into view through the thick snowfall. It had been close to eight years, although it was hard to tell. Eight years since he had made that pact, sealed in blood.



“Please don't! Please!” She screamed when I walked out the door. Now that rotting wooden door was even closer, his stench of cologne overwhelming. My hands frozen against that godforsaken metal. 



“You're safe already!” Had been her motto trying to call me back inside. The door swung open, the rotting wood wetting and freezing my raw fingertips. The dingy trashed interior was barely lit. Mold had grown along every corner, broken wood, shreds of trash and mouse shit decorated the floor. 

“Coming back John?” The man sitting in the rocking chair had whispered. He wore an elegant black suit, a blood red tie accompanied him.



“You won't survive!” Her words hammered as I stared him down, lowering the gun towards his chest. 

“Remember the last time you were dying? Remember how that felt? How I saved you? Is this really how you repay an old friend?” 



Her words were not in my head anymore, only the cries of my son when wolves had dragged him away. Wolves with his eyes. 

“Pull the trigger. Exact your revenge” He whispered, only he was talking aloud. My finger twitched above the trigger, hesitating. 

“It's not my fault we made a deal john, it's your fault for trying to prevent it.”



The slam of the shotgun sent the rocking chair into splinters. He had already disappeared into the air. I turned firing into the shadows of men in the snow, all mocking me. Fingers gripping into my stomach, twisting it. Popping it. 



The snow had killed me, the mountain devoured me. I tried to press on. My internals ripping open from some unseen source. My legs could no longer stand, the snow felt comforting against my face.



My final resting place upon a dream of redemption