I awoke suddenly to the loud cannon sound outside my cabin,
activating the piles of snow that descend down the slippery slope.
Today was my first day of heli-skiing in Alaska.
I stood up, half frozen from the crisp night temperatures.

I could hear the thumping of the helicopter outside,
waiting to take me to the high peaks.
I boarded, sitting next to the indifferent pilot.
Adrenaline filled, I glanced outside to witness us hover away from
my peaceful cabin and climb the expanding pure mountains.

We reached the peak and I launch out on to the fluffy white powder.
I stood, frozen, gazing into the distance, smiling as the helicopter
lifted away.

I turned my skis parallel to the mountain and carved through
the shimmering white, creating the first path down the slope.

I felt my legs shaking. I glanced to either side, snow escaping past me,
I pivoted to see a large mass of white chasing me as I plunged down.
I tried to steer away, but the thundering behemoth grabbed me. 

Pitch black and alone, I’m completely buried. Hungry for air, I struggled to scream.
Snow turned into daggers as frostbite devoured every glimpse of skin.
Scared and numb, I waited for death.

Boom!

I awoke to the cannons outside and the snow tumbling down the slippery slope.