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[Day: ????, Date: ????: Time: ???]

I awake groggily, first noticing the pain in my head. But there's not just pain in my head. In the darkness underneath my eyelids, I recognize throbbing in my legs, arms, neck and...ick, my back too? With concerted effort, I bring my eyes open too. And the world blurs into vision: whites and browns and—

Where the heck am I?

I will my vision to clear, but my head spins and swims like I'm on that super strength oxy they gave me for period cramps once.

And the letters are there again, nudging at me with warm, comforting elevator music humming in the background.

Damn the letters. I'm not crazy. I just fell asleep on the flight.

But the scenery is finally coming into view, and I realize suddenly that I'm really, really cold—

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I start with a jolt, but I can't move my limbs.

Because there's a snow pile in front of my face. And my torso disappears into a snowbank that stops around my collarbone.

I struggle—'cause that's what you do when you wake up lodged in a snow pile, can't see your feet and can't remember anything other than falling asleep on a plane to a retreat you never wanted to be on in the first place.

Oh my God, we crashed? The plane went down, and I slept through it? It seems improbable—maybe impossible—but—

"MACY?!" I scream, hating how weak and raspy my voice sounds, "Macy, where are you—"

My voice cuts sharply off because I hear rustling. A bush? The snow? There's someone out here. Good, that's good! If I make noise, maybe they'll rescue me!

"Hey!" I call loudly, "I need help!" I crane my neck to see backwards, towards where the noise had come from, but am only met with a mouthful of spikey, evergreen needles. I spit them out, stretching my chin up to see an enormous tree framed against an ice-blue sky.

How long have I been here? Surely, my limbs being numb in the snow is not a good thing.

"Help!" I cry.

But, no matter how much I strain, I don't hear any more noise.

Just silence.

And the cry of an eagle overhead.

And the howl of the wind. Just my fucking luck. I try to do the right thing by going to this stupid, mental health retreat and literally fall out of the sky.

Macy. The panic swirling in my lungs and making my breath short only intensifies as I think of my baby brother. Images of him bleeding, wounded or dead flash across my mind.

No.

No, he's none of those things. He's okay, and I'm going to muscle up a little extra courage and be the big sister who finds him if only I can—

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I try desperately to feel my legs before giving up on that. And, then, I start to dig. Biting snow scrapes at the freezing flesh of my fingers as I attempt to scrape it away from my torso. I can't dig quickly enough to satisfying my heart pounding in my ears. What if I die here? What if Macy dies here? What if he's already dead?

But I can't think like that. I have to think like a survivor; I have to think that he's out there waiting for me, and I have to will myself to get to him.

Boobs! I've never been so happy to see my boobs. I dig faster, feeling encouraged. I try to shift my weight to see if I can wriggle out—

No luck.

I dig further, throwing snow up around me—feeling pieces of it slide under my soaked shirt and down my front and back. I guess that means I'm getting some kind of feeling back... There.

With a suction cup pop, I heave myself out of the snow drift. I gasp as pins and needles start all at once, seemingly over my entire body. I grit my teeth together at the burn.

Macy. I've gotta find Mace.

I drag myself upward, but, the minute I try to put pressure on my legs, they crumple like jelly under me. I pitch forward dangerously and—

And end up face-first in the snow.

Fuck this.

I shove off the ground, my eyes roaming the snowy hill that it looks like I'm stuck on. Jagged rocks stretch overhead with billowing mounds of white padding the slope on every side like a giant, comforter. Pine trees stretch their enormous limbs upward as sun that isn't bright enough filters through the branches. I squint into it, trying to stop my dizzy head. Is this real? This isn't a dream, right?

Real or not, I have to find Macy. I'm about to turn and force my gelatin legs into motion when something catches my eye—a piece of pink ribbon, fluttering in the breeze from where it's caught in a snowbank. It kinda looks like...

My fingers are chapped and red from the cold now, but I reach out for it, scraping away more snow. I was right. It's my journal. I shake the snow off its form, flipping a page open for little bit of normalcy. And the pages are wet on the edges, but, otherwise, unharmed. And the written lines of pen inside are a little smeary inside but...

Oh my God, I last wrote my fears here, and they came true. This is not okay.

Still, I should leave some sort of account of what's happening for anyone who might come across this scene later in case I... In case...

I won't finish that thought.

My fingers hurt so badly, but I reach to pull a pen out of my pocket and trace words on the page.

I've been in a plane crash. My entire body was buried in snow. I swear I heard some sort of movement out here, but I can't see anyone. I'm going to go check it out. I need to find my younger brother, Macy. I need to find warmth. I can feel my body shutting down. I have to go. I have to...survive.

I shove the book under my arm and shove upward on my feet. For once, they hold, but I only make it a few, tripping steps before plummet into the snow again. Disgusted with myself and far too chilled from this wind whipping across my cheeks, I try to thrust myself upward again. Come on! I have to find Macy!

"Lorrell," I hear a faint cry.

And I'd know that voice anywhere.

Mace!

I spin around—fall around? It's hard to keep upright right now. And, sure enough, there's my baby brother: his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes dull and confused and a—

"Macy!" I dive towards him. He's pinned under metal—part of the airplane wing? I don't know. I don't care as long as I can get him away from it and he's unharmed, but, the closer I get, I see that the snow around him is stained pink.

It's...blood.

That and a giant, black cord of a telephone wire crosses the path between us, the copper ends twisted and protruding dangerously between us.

And my eyes follow the black wires up the craggy mountainside.

And an enormous airplane rests, balancing on the cliff face right above our heads—its sides scratched with dirt and debris like giant claw marks in the bent metal. I inhale sharply. If that thing tilts, we're toast.

"Macy, don't move. I'll get you," I call to him as I hear him wince in pain, "I've got this. I promise you."

But, honestly, I've never been less sure of anything in my life.