Dog Life

"Hunger and fear are the only realities in dog life: an empty stomach makes a fierce dog." Robert Falcon Scott died of Hypothermia, exploring the Antarctica. These were among his last words. I bit my nail, thought for a moment and swallowed it. What wouldn't I do to satiate my hunger now? My eyes were incapable of producing tears and my body of producing warmth. Starvation while dying due to extreme cold is ironically no less than the burning inferno. My wife was dead, it had been a day. She broke her ankle when we fell off the mountain cliff. A beautiful skiing trip turned to the biggest mistake of our lives. We lingered to the area out of bounds, holding hands, gazing into the horizon, life couldn't have been better. In a moment, the fresh, soft snow beneath our legs just disappeared. There were no shrieks, no hysteria. The fall was more traumatizing than painful. Nearly a hundred feet down the abyss, it took me some time to regain my senses. The soft, powdered snow ensured we lived. The giant rock beneath her ankle ensured we suffered. I was lucky enough to survive with just few concussions, my wife wasn't. It has been a week since then, my wife couldn't walk at all and the rescue team was not even close to rescue. 

First the skin starts to turn to hard leather. My ears and nose started turning red and in no time the pain was unbearable. In few hours, the body begins to shiver uncontrollably. The few sips of water left in our bottles were so cold that they simply scorched the throat. But this is when the madness began. She tore off her jacket and threw it in the snow. She started perspiring excessively as if she was in a tropical desert. I couldn't process what was happening, had she gone mad? Later on I found that the body temperature fluctuates between skin and internal organs to avoid death as well as frostbite. So one moment her skin would turn dead by acute cold and the other she would be burning by her own body heat. My toes were literally dry twigs. I stub one in the snow and my nail was lying in the snow, my nail bed exposed with yellow, bubbly puss and dried blood. Her eyes started to turn blurry, soon she could see nothing. We tried for hours to kindle some fire, but it was all futile. I needed food. I chuckled softly remembering how I experienced a brain freeze drinking that cold Slurpee few days back. I thought that was painful.

 

She wouldn't survive, I knew. Uncannily she turned pretty every moment that brought her close to death. Her fair skin was now white, her nose was red reminding me of moments when it flared while she was angry. I hated the flies though. Even in this cold, they loved to sit on her moist pupils. I felt uncomfortable, imagining their pointed legs on her sensitive eyeball. Moments before her death she had said, "Finally you'll go, find some shelter. Just remember, death may separate our bodies, but our souls are united." 

The most heinous of all is, I waited for a day not to mourn her but contemplating whether should I consume her? My moral compass was going berserk, my eyes were tired of crying but my growling stomach and my survival instinct pleaded me to be logical. By mind was wobbling with all her memories, her warm smile, the peck she used to give on my cheeks I remembered about some tribes that consumed their dead, loved ones in order to unite for eternity. In few minutes, she was lying naked, in the snow ready as a lobster on an ice platter. I had nothing but a pen. I took it and stabbed her bosom. The sternum breaking made me hungry as well as disgusted. I pulled the pen in a circle to cut a huge piece. It was messy, but effective. Raw meat isn't that bad, especially if you're hungry to death. It had a very distinct taste. I could even taste her deodorant. My eyes watered, the tears were evoked by bliss as well as pain. Her wet eyeballs and intestines quenched my thirst. I kissed her severed lips for one, last time and finally covered her with some snow. Now I had no more tears, no more regret. The next day I was ready to go find some help, my stomach was more than full and my hopes resurrected. My hunger took the human part out of me, leaving nothing humane after it. After four hours of walking knee deep in snow, I finally saw some men. God finally decided to save me.

 It's been a month since that wretched fall. Everyone's hoping my wife may survive. I told them we separated after the plunge. The police are still searching for her body. The only thing I know now is fear. I've read that dead bodies can survive for months before they decay in snow. She was too big to devour completely. I just don't want my mother to know that I gobbled up my wife greedily, who worshipped me like a God. Steaks were now too overcooked for me, tasteless and simply - unexciting. I can smell her deodorant on anyone even from feet afar. Her eyes with those flies are all I can dream of now. We're united. She's all that's on my mind, my nerves. Now I finally get what Robert Falcon Scott really meant. I am finally no better than a dog, just hunger and fear. I think I was better off dying.