It was a dark and stormy night

It was a dark and stormy night, the kind that clawed at the windows and gnawed at your bones, making you ache for the safety of your home, cozied up under several blankets with your favorite pajamas and a hot drink in your hands. The type of night perfect to binge-watch that show everyone has been telling you about. With winds strong enough to rip a tree from its roots and hailstones the size of a golf ball. No sane man would have gone outside without a good reason, but I had one, and once you hear my story, you will agree with me.

This was never my choice. As I said, it was the perfect night to hide under the bedcovers, pretending the world didn’t exist. The sky so dark you couldn’t see further than your nose. Not even thieves or robbers would be out tonight. The wind howled like a hungry wolf looking for its next victim. But I had to get out; there was no point fighting it. There was something I had to do, and only I could do it. I had never been so happy for my crampons and snow boots. I bought them on a whim for a snow trip that we never did, but I never had the stomach to throw them away, even after all these years. Now, in the hellish night, they were my perfect companions.

Everything was frozen, ice covering every inch of ground available, your nose, and a bit more. Each step had to be carefully planned; one false move and it was over. The cold would catch you before help could reach you. Trapping you in a frozen tomb as a warning for anyone who dared to challenge the elements. It didn’t matter how many layers of sweaters you were wearing or what kind of coat. If you fell, it was over for you.

The road was no better. Even inside the car, you could hear the wind’s cries and feel it shaking the vehicle. Even without the gloves on, the highway became an obstacle course, covered with fallen trees and signals, even a warped spotlight. Everything urged me to turn back, but I was too stubborn. And, as I said, I had a good reason.

My hands ached with pain; not even the car’s heater, together with the gloves, was enough to stop the numbing sensation that climbed from my fingers to the rest of my arm. Blowing on my hands didn’t help, nor did hitting the steering wheel. I tucked my hand between my legs and switched from time to time. But then the cold started to spread to my legs. I checked the glove compartment and found one Hot Pocket. Not much, seeing as the night was getting colder and colder, but I would have had to do it with what I had. I stopped the car, put the hot pocket between my legs, covering it with my hands, and waited. The cold didn’t recede but didn’t advance either. I considered it a win and turned the engine on again. It whined and coughed, fighting the cold to get moving again. Not for the first time, I prayed, I had to keep moving at all costs. And my prayers were answered, or so I thought.

Thunder joined the wind’s howls in an unholy concert of climactic warfare, making my heart jolt against my ribs. Lighting temporarily blinded me. Time slowed as I drove as slowly as I could. Knuckles white on the wheel, terrified something would leap from the darkness before I could react. Watching out for the melted ice, the marks that other imprudent people had left before me were like a salvation line that I blindly followed.

I reached my destination. The Hot Pocket was no longer hot, but it didn’t matter; I was nearly there. The car couldn’t take me any further, and now I must finish the rest on foot—only a couple of miles. I checked the map from time to time to reassure myself that I’m going in the right direction. The storm has stopped. Now only a gentle rain was left. Still, there is barely any illumination on the streets, and the moonless night made it harder to navigate without aids.

Each time I checked the map and saw I’d barely moved, hopelessness gnawed at me. I comforted myself by thinking of all the hardships I had survived this night, but the weight of everything dragged me down. I had to stop to rest more and more often, the snow reaching my knees. Gritting my teeth, I had to force myself to move.

I sagged in defeat, wondering if any of this was worth it. But there were no options left; turning back now would mean certain death. So I keep forcing myself to the last one hundred meters. The rain has drenched my clothes, and my throat hurts so much it feels like it's on fire. Fortunately, I was almost there because my vision was getting blurry as well. I walked out of pure spite. Taking one mechanical step after another, careless, unthinking, just a desperate fight for survival. I kept pushing, knowing I was close, practically tasting the finish line. I counted my last steps, ten, nine, eight, seven, seven, seven…

And then I reached it, my goal, my final destination, my reason to be. Relief surged as my battered body finally gave in; now I could rest, I could close my eyes and rest, there was nothing left for me to do. I did it, I arrived safely, and I didn’t quit. Let everybody know that when others needed me, I pushed through hell like only a man on a mission would, and went where I had to so that I did not fail those counting on me. And with my last strength, I delivered the package.

Only then did I realize I had the wrong address. My blood ran as cold as the rest of my body was already feeling. This mistake will be deducted from my paycheck. The last thing I remember was breaking into tears before losing consciousness.