It was so cold. They couldn’t move their fingers quite so fast to type any more. They had stopped feeling their toes for almost half an hour by now. Their hair was now whitened by frost, their hands were growing ever more violet while their nails had already turned pale. It didn’t hurt quite as much now. It felt more like slowly burning up. If they hadn’t known the effects of cold, they’d probably had started taking off their clothes as the heat seemed unbearable. If hell was real, then they were glad for the foretaste.
All around them, white flames were dancing before their eyes, shaking their limbs, scarring their lips, freezing their fingertips.
Inside their minds, the survival alarm had stopped slowly, leaving only some red flashes of anguish.

After the fear came the numbness.

After the cold came the heat.

After the noise, the silence.