It was a cold January night. Colder than usual. Much colder than usual. He shivered – the standard issue jacket didn’t seem to work; it was largely unsuccessful keeping the cold out and the heat in. Some weather, he reckoned. Rather be in the tropics, drinking iced tea, than be here, struggling even to hold the glass cup containing rum and coffee. The room was only marginally warmer, and everything inside was freezing cold to touch. He snuggled inside the blanket and tried to sleep, rolling himself into a ball with the blanket covering him head-to-toe.
But sleep eluded him. Not because it was cold; cold is secondary when one is tired enough and Sleep just comes. But because his mind wouldn’t let him. He kept playing the incident over and over again in his mind. He felt colder every time he did that. His extremities were numb, even though he had curled them for minimum exposure. He was trying to breathe out hot air, hoping the blanket would trap some in; didn’t quite seem like it was working, it felt progressively colder.
And then he felt warmer. It was something that started from his chest and slowly spread all across his body. He couldn’t figure out at first, he was too busy relishing the warm feeling, as if he has nestled between the welcoming arms of a giant panda. Or maybe that of sizzling chocolate fudge. It felt like heaven. Slowly, feeling returned to his hands, and he felt wet. His brain pondered: this doesn’t make sense; why am I feeling wet? His mind though couldn’t care less; it wanted to continue with the amazing feeling.
And that is how he bled to death.
They found him later, drowned in his own blood, now dry and clotted, with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
