I placed my palm to where I think the door still hung, my fingers were oblivious but down my palm I could feel it still. That twinge of cold through my skin. My heart soared knowing that what could my way be out was still here. But I withdrew my hand. I don’t want to lose this feeling, not any more than I already have.

I tried to move my fingers but I couldn’t tell if they were working or not. If they were there it was like they were dead, limp and lifeless hanging off the top of my hand. But then from the inside I could feel something, it hurt but it was something. A burning drifting up from my arm, lazily flowing to my dead finger tips.

I clenched my fist they were moving I could feel that again but they were stiff and hard like the skin has been stuffed to full and stretched taught. This sensation did not cease before I was reaching out again.

When my fingers reached the door pain shot down my arm, it wasn’t cold, no the cold burned. I reached with my other hand but it was the same cold tinge as before.