With the two prattling amongst themselves, it would seem, Dexter took the opportunity to pop in the VHS Tape, and brisked himself for the cold weather. He already knew what was going to be on there. It could only be one thing.
…
You’re immediately hit with the chill of a blizzard. It looks to be your average standard Canadian highway, though the snow is piling up. This Blizzard seems only recently onset, as the snow on the ground has only started accumulating. Nothing but trees and fields for miles upon miles that you can see. And in the middle of it all, an even shorter figure walks.
16 Kilometers outside of Hay River, Northwest Territories, Dexter Blanche walks.
Black hair poking out of a toque, trudging along at a snails pace. With nothing but a schoolbag, a loose scarf, and a puffy jacket. His face looking more like it was out of The Shining than out of civilization; frostbite eating away at his jaw. The boy can’t be any older than 7 or 8, from the looks of it. His bundles not doing much to keep out the wind. Oh the wind.
As the two of you are looking at this poor figure trudging along the highway, Dexter steps in front of you. He goes up to the boy, though he knows he’s cursed to only observe. After a moment of contemplation, he draws his hand back, and looks back at you, facing you.
“You already know the prologue to this story.” He begins. “My father fell into an ice lake one day while we were camping. I had managed to help get him out, but even with the fire, he succumbed to hypothermia not long after.”
He shakes his head, looking forlornly back at his younger self.
“But I was only a child, and now I was alone. Far, far, far away from Civilization, out in the woods. What else was I supposed to do? To say I was frightened was an understatement.”
He looks back at you all. “I must have walked for… hm. How long was it, now? Truthfully, I cannot tell you accurately. It felt like an eternity, walking along that empty highway. My father’s death was, obviously, a tragedy. But the death march I endured…”
He sighs, taking another step back towards you both. “But I stand before you now, so it didn’t kill me. Someone eventually drove by, picked me up, and drove me back. The police took me to the hospital, and… well.”
He looks at his speckled hand. “I still bear the scars, however light, of that day. A lot of them are hard to see now that I’m an adult, but they’re there.”
He bristles. “Now- let us leave, yes? It is quite chilly out here.”
