Below the Surface

How did he end up here? He couldn't remember. It was cold. He was pretty sure he was shivering. His ears were ringings, not from a loud noise, but from the cold, the wet, draining cold that was enveloping him.

He needed to get out of wherever he was.

Opening his eyes was tough. Every time he tried, they burned. They wanted to open, to know where he was, if he was with anyone, but at the same time, they refused. It hurt. Too much.

He tried to say something, but he was shivering too much to open his mouth. The damn cold. It has a way of controlling you. Taking you over. Rendering you useless.

He had to pull it together. Wherever he was, he couldn't breath. His lungs were burning, filling with spent air, the carbon dioxide was itching to be released. His chest felt like it was ready to burst - his life was ready to leave his body, evaporate into the air around him, disappear, just like he would, never to be fond again.

He flailed a bit. Nothing was around him. It was as if he was falling in slow motion. He was moving as quickly as he could, but it felt as if he was going no where.

That's when it happened. His hand brushed something. It brushed her. Her hand. Drifting there, soft, frozen, delicate, wrinkled. It all flooded back to him in an instance.

The walk in the woods. The snow falling around them, slow and gentle. The kind that would dust your face if you were to look up in awe at its beauty, as it drifted down to the ground, delicate like hundreds of tiny dancers.

Today was the day. The proposal. He loved her, loved them, their life. It was ready to ask her. Winter was her favorite time, white her favorite color. She loved the quiet of winter, the breeze as it plays through the limbs of the barren trees. It was perfect.

She insisted it'd be fun to make snow angels. That the ice was thick enough. That making a snow angel on a lake was like no other snow angel he had made before. Once made, you could turn over and see into the water like a window. She swore the water was crystal clear, purified by the low temperatures.

He agreed. That's when it happened.

She giggled and ran to the middle of the lake, sliding onto her back, flailing her arms and legs out, enjoying every second of it.

He was about to step onto the ice when he heard the hollow, deep, echo rifle from below the surface. She sat up and looked at him. Both there eyes were wide.

And just like that, she was gone.

He ran, as fast as he could, faster than he ever had.

His eyes screamed as he opened his eyes. The icy water burned as he scanned for her hand. Seeing it through the crystal blue water, he grabbed it. His lungs were still burning. His skin felt like it was melting off. He couldn't see the hole in the ice. His clothes were heavy. So were hers. He wasn't sure if there were going to make it out.

Leading with his free hand, it broke the surface. The air immediately set to work freezing the exposed cloth and skin.

He dragged her out, to the edge of the lake. His took his jacket off, placed it around her, rubber her. Shook her. Spoke to her.

She was a light blue. Lips pale, eyes closed. He kept rubbing, kept shaking, kept pleading.

This couldn't be happening. He yelled for him, for someone to come with a blanket, a fire, a ride to safety. His voice just left with the wind, lost amongst the barren trees of the wintery forest.

He hugged her and began to cry. Rubbing her shoulders, her face, her whole body. He kept peeling his clothes off, wrapping her in them. Hoping he'd see some movement, some sign of life.

Nothing.

He fell onto her, sobbing, his face against her shoulder. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the box, opened it, and slid the ring on her finger.

He laid there, pouring himself out, when he heard a slight wheeze, followed by a couch, and water hitting the side of his face.

Sitting up, he saw her eyes were barely open, with her hand raised in the air.

"What's this," she murmured.

He smiled back, "us."