Martin Olsen sat alone, on a log stool behind the cabin he rented. Martin took a sip of his coffee as he looked around at all of the firewood he had chopped that morning already. He slowly gazed down the mountain at the lake below as memories of his past began to fill his mind.  The memory of the night he had proposed to the love of his life, the pause of time as he saw the tears form in her eyes before the "No"that would change his life. The memory  of his parent's saddened and disappointed faces the morning they bailed him out of jail after he got into a drunken bar fight and broke the Bartender's nose for cutting him off for the night. The Memory of losing his dream job as an architect after the bar fight and the pain of being unable to find another job in his City. The Agony of seeing how happy his ex-girlfriend is with her new boyfriend while he just drinks himself into a deeper despair. 

        The flame began to dwindle, and the cold seeped into Martin's bones as he sat lost in the past. Martin stood up and grabbed some of the nearby wood to throw into the fire pit. As the flames began to rise once more, Martin picked up the axe that was leaning against the cabin and returned to the chopping block with a new log. Martin focused on the work of chopping the wood to keep his mind from wandering. This would be his final night in Iceland, as his flight to return home was in the afternoon the following day. Martin had traveled to Iceland with the rest of the money he had, it was only enough to stay for one week, but one week was all he'd need. Martin had chosen Iceland because he had lived in Florida his whole life and had needed a major change of scenery, as well as the fact that his ancestors had been from Iceland so he figured he'd return to his family's roots. 

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            Martin finished chopping the remaining wood and picked up as much as he could carry and began to walk to the other side of the house. Martin filled the bin outside of the door then returned to the rear of the cabin to take some more of the fire wood inside the cabin for the night. Once finished, Martin pulled a flask out of his inner coat pocket and took a swig of the hard liquor inside, then returned the flask to his pocket. Martin then looked out to the lake below and began to descend the mountain, following the dirt trail down. As he reached the bottom of the mountain, the light reflected off of the water and a cold breeze hit Martin's face.  Martin sat on a nearby log for some time, just enjoying the beauty of the country he was in. After about an hour, He trekked back up to the cabin and reignited the fire pit outside. Martin returned inside and grabbed a pan from the kitchen and some groceries to make dinner.

        Martin seated himself once outside again, placing the pan over the fire. Martin placed some hot dogs on the pan as well as some buns to toast. Shortly after, Martin ate his dinner alone outside as the sun began to set and looked out into the setting sun.  

        "Kra-Koom!" 

        A loud cracking noise emanated from the mountain, followed by a low rumbling sound and violent shaking.

            "What the fuck was that?" Martin asked himself as he jumped to his feet and grabbed the wooden axe from against the cabin, raising it in self defense out of reflex.

        The rumbling got louder and stronger quickly as an avalanche lurched down the mountain, unfortunately Martin noticed it too late and was suddenly enveloped in a cold white tomb, pinned against the cabin.