Page 1

Koppe, Finland

1 November 2019

At first, white-hot agony.

She can’t think. Can’t react.

The ice-cold water paralyses every muscle.

Her entire body becomes one desperate plea: let it end .

Nobody can bear this and live.

Just when it feels as though she might die from the pain, the stinging needles recede, replaced with a deep ache as her cells attempt to adjust to the shockingly low temperature.

The surface. She needs to get to the surface. The thought crowds everything else out.

Survival instinct kicks in, over the fear, the denial, the incomprehension.

Her legs kick, her arms flail, seeking the hole through which she fell, the break in the ice.

Up, up, and her head is clear and she’s gasping for air.

The sudden intake of oxygen brings an explosion of adrenaline and now she knows what she has to do.

One. Fight the debilitating throbbing that could force her back under.

Two. Get out of the water and on to the ice.

Three. Find safe ground.

She’s lucky; this registers somewhere in the back of her brain. Some people go in and never find their way out. The last thing they see is a sheet of impenetrable ice, the promise of light on the other side. She has been trained for this. She, at least, has a chance.

Her hand throws itself on to the frozen surface, the section that hasn’t cracked, and splays there like a safety anchor.

She sees a figure; remembers who it is. She calls for help. At least, she thinks she does. Her mouth opens, but she’s not sure any sound is coming out. There’s so much to say.

You’re wrong. It doesn’t matter. I won’t tell anybody.

The figure just watches. There’s no offer of help. And now, the person is walking away.

The woman in the lake sees crimson splashed on the white snow that covers most of the ice, thick snow that lured her to the thinnest, most dangerous part of the lake. It’s so distractingly beautiful, red on white, that she almost forgets it’s her blood that’s been spilled. That the ragged line that trails towards the broken ice must have dripped from her exposed wound as she tried to run to safety.

Her hand reaches and slips and reaches and slips but finds nothing.

She tries to scream. It’s beyond her. The pounding inside her head and the stabbing sensation of the freezing water have stolen her voice.

Who’d hear, anyway?

She’s alone, trapped in a frozen lake, nothing but birch trees and forest animals for miles; a whole lot of white nothingness.

She’s not perfect. She’s done a lot of stupid things. Things she regrets.

But she doesn’t deserve this.

She didn’t see this coming.

There are so many people she wishes she could talk to one last time. So many people she loves, people she hasn’t told in a while.

She still thinks she’ll be okay. This doesn’t happen. Not to people her age. She can’t just die. Somebody will find her and save her.

Her body starts to go numb. Her thoughts drift. Her scrabbling hand falls still.

The last thing she sees before the icy water claims her is a new snowfall.

It’s breathtaking in its beauty.

Gentle, soft crystals fall on to her face. And fall and fall.

And fall.