Alvin rubbed his eyes with his glove-covered hands, not sure whether what he saw was real or a hallucination. He was tired. He was hungry. And he was chilled to the bone. He shook his head vigorously and blinked, and the small structure a few hundred feet ahead was still there. It must be real.
He started to walk toward the structure and could discern that it wasn’t some ramshackle shack. It seemed to be a small cabin and Alvin was feeling hopeful that his ordeal might finally be over.
Alvin quickened his pace, walking as fast as his nearly frost bitten feet could take him, but he wasn’t making any headway. The cabin was no closer. Exhausted and disheartened, he fell down and into the deep snow and sleep quickly overcame him.
When he awoke, Alvin was lying in a bed. A fire in the fireplace warmed the room and a strange man was sitting on a chair opposite the bed staring at Alvin. “Am I dead? Am I alive?” Alvin asked the man.
The man smiled. “There is no distinction anymore, Alvin.”
Alvin didn’t understand. “Where am I?” he asked.
The man simply said, “You are neither here nor there.”
Written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Photo credit: pixy.org.