Out Like a Lion

The crisp night air cooled my disappointment. Snow was falling more thickly than when I arrived at Taft Hall, only to find that Public Safety had canceled the March event due to weather. My dorm was just a five-minute walk, so I declined their offer to stay.

The campus was unnervingly still. The ground stopped crunching beneath my boots, falling silent under a deepening white blanket. The cold began to bite. I pulled my knit cap tighter and wrapped my scarf over my mouth and nose. Putting my hands in my pockets, I hunched my shoulders and continued stepping through starless winter.

The wind picked up. So did my heart rate as blinding snow pelted me from every direction. I squinted into the storm, tasting my fear like rust in my chattering teeth. I couldn’t see my dorm anymore. There were no shadowy shapes of trees or buildings to give me bearing. Just whistling snow and ice in a kaleidoscope of grey, lulling me to sink down into its white noise and disappear.

Needles of ice kept me wakeful against the cold. I threw an arm over my face to protect my eyes. Huddling against the buffeting blasts, I trudged forward. I knew I had to keep walking.

Something bumped me. I grasped it convulsively. Several hands pulled me from the sucking wind into warmth. I shivered uncontrollably, hearing calls for blankets and hot coffee. Blinking, I recognized the room. Taft Hall, an hour after I had left.