Igloo

You awaken with amnesia in what looks to be an igloo. You have $4 and a rock in one pocket, and a toothbrush in the other. Someone is staring at you. Write this scene.



A bronze sun glistened over the snow almost blinding me as I stood in the frozen doorway. Nothing made sense. A bed of ice in an igloo with no recollection of why or how.

As I thought about it, I realized I wasn't even quite sure what my name was. The words were there on the tip of my consciousness, but seemed so far out of my grasp. Dreams of wild open praries and scorching hot suns had woken me with a chill as the realization of where I was sunk in.

Scatterbrained, I checked my pockets. Something had to make sense. I just needed something visual to jog my memory. The jeans I wore were faded with slashes cut through the knees. My left pocket was empty but my right was not. A toothbrush, an obsidian rock smooth on one side and jagged on the other, and four crumpled dollar bills.

What would MacGyver do, I wondered with cheap amusment. I could remember MacGyver but not myself. How poetic.

I sat back on the bed of animal pelts. It was then I noticed the eyes glaring at me from the doorway. His shadow fell over the floor and I felt my heart thud against my toes at the first malevolent thoughts that circulated my mind.

He was tall and brawny with wide shoulders. His sable hair was pulled back away from his face but the blistering winds swept it about his face. All dressed in brown layers, I could still see the strength rippling through his body. This man was powerful and I doubted I could defend myself with a toothbrush and rock.

"You're awake." His voice was a deep rumble that sparked the slightest hint of warmth in the pit of my stomach. "You'll find warm clothes in the trunk there. We'll be moving on soon."

I don't know why I moved to the trunk. Every blocked memory of my life was screaming at me to panic and run. Yet I removed the robes from the trunk and slowly pulled them on. Wherever this man was taking me, something felt right. Following him seemed like the only logical thing to do in this illogical situation.

"You've made a lot of powerful people very angry. I hope you're ready to survive." He watched me, those dark brown eyes following my every move as layered the warm robes over my clothes.

"I have a feeling whoever you stole that stone from is tracking you right now. I'll help you to the pass. It's warmer there. You can survive on your own from there." He lifted a pack from the floor, stretching it over his back as he led the way outside.

I didn't question him. It didn't make sense. But I trusted my life to this virile stranger. A stolen rock and I ended up unconscious and unaware in the middle of some frozen tundra?

It wasn't until we'd hiked through the snow, the bronze sun hanging high in the sky by the time we stopped for a meal, that it all started to come back to me. Those last forty eight hours of my life that had virtually marked me for death.

The stone grew warm in my pocket as the memories flooded back and I wondered if this stranger wasn't part of some plot to kill me again.