Thoughts on a merry-go-round, going up and down, round and round. I set it ablaze, the whole thing engulfed in yellow-red flames, peeling away the veneer, releasing the wild horses trapped underneath.

The thoughts go up in smoke, tickling the gods above, causing one to sneeze, the vibrations shaking the highest mountain. It’s avalanche season I told you to watch out, now you’re buried, your skis sticking out like a cartoon, except you’re not laughing you’re trapped, and is that a rescue dog you’re hearing or just the wind howling? You wait and quench your thirst with snow. You snooze from boredom. You are not cold in your fancy suit. You drift off though you were advised against it, hypothermia is to be feared not indulged in. There is digging about, and shouts. You don’t want to be part of it, let me sleep. You feel like a teenager again in a deep slumber. You make the dog happy. He has been finding nothing but dead bodies but your limbs move. They airlift you, you hate flying what if it crashes? You feel close to God whatever that means.

A gust of wind, just your luck, as the helicopter crashes against the mountain wall and bursts into flames. Your last thoughts are of wild horses fleeing a wildfire. You don’t know why but it feels just right.