Day 3:
The ghastly wind has picked up, causing all loose snow outside to be thrown into the air. The only thing that we can see out of our window is a wall of white powder as it swirls around us, threatening to hold on forever. Moral is at an all time low, but that is not surprising. All of our dry wood from yesterday is spent, and we have decided to burn everything that is not vital to our survival; including the second bed. About a quarter of the other bed is gone, but the straw burns too quickly for it to really be effective. It will all be gone by the end of the day.
Cross has apparently decided to give up hope. He is lying on the remaining bed, rolling back and forth with a distant look in his eyes. Panic has come and gone; at this point he is on the edge of a nervous breakdown. In this state if he has a nervous breakdown, he will die. Wymble has decided to give up neither hope nor sleep. He spent the last twenty hours doing almost nothing but sleeping. Takes your mind off of reality when you are lost in a state of dreams. Much like the writing I am doing, keeping this journal may seem pointless, but it keeps me busy. Keeping busy is the key to survival, Peers said at one point before this trip. Peers himself is acting very strange; he is pacing about the cabin, occasionally muttering under his breath, and glancing out the window, even though he can’t see anything through the snow.
Locked in this cabin by a wall of snow limits what I can write about besides the increasing stress levels and despair of my companions. As I am writing this, Peers is telling Cross that we are all going to make it out alive. Cross is remaining silent, still rocking back and forth. Ah, it looks as if he might actually say something. Saying anything would be an improvement from his current state of being. Well Cross, what are you
He’s right. We are almost out of food. We prepared for two days worth of food, and being day three, it is nearly gone. Same with our water supply. Our fire isn’t hot enough to melt the snow, and if we open the door it will go out. We aren’t going to get out of here alive, are we? It seems early to give up hope, but how are we going to get out of this? Peers has been in situations like this before, so he will be all right for a while at least. Wymble, provided that he wakes up, has some experience, and is a tough pony after all. He should do well for a few more days as long as we find something to eat and drink. Cross I don’t want to talk about. I don’t know how long I myself will last. More than just being in a snowstorm, there is an ominous feeling in the air. In the silence. I think that Peers is feeling it too, judging by his actions. There really is no telling why we feel this way though, I don’t think anything could be out there in the snow right now. Curse this forest. Curse every place where the weather isn’t controlled by Pegasus ponies. Why don’t we have one with us? If we did, then we could have them fly up to the clouds and push them away, letting the sun’s glorious rays down. There would be a lot of things that would be nice to have at this point, but it doesn’t do well to dwell on what we want anymore than to dwell on where we would like to be. Somehow, I believe that
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At this point, the next page and a half are ripped from the journal. It is unknown, but likely, that these pages had writing on them. The following writing is most likely from the same day as before the missing section.
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We need this journal in case anything does happen to us, and that is why it cannot be burnt as firewood. Besides, it wouldn’t even burn for a mere twenty minutes. I have just finished explaining this to the others who finally took notice of my journal and tried to burn it. That is not happening. Somepony will find us eventually, in whatever state we may be in. They need to know what has happened. Whether we freeze to death, or something kills us all, or we just kill each other. Or all three! How would that even work? Cross is beginning to cry and moan loudly. I wish he would just shut up, moaning and crying isn’t going to do anything. Its not like we can just summon food through our tears, or pull a Mary Shelly and create a being who could survive this environment outside of the cabin to find food and water for us. Now Peers is going over to try and quiet him down. Best of luck to you Peers, I would sure
We are dead. Dead. THERE IS NO WAY TO SURVIVE THIS. Not now that Cross has grabbed all the remaining food in his mouth and bolted out the door. Idiot! Selfish, weak idiot! He is going to die in no less than an hour and a half, being lost and cold out there. IT TOOK THREE DAYS! How in the name off all things that follow the path of sanity does this all happen in three days? It feels like it should be a lot longer than that. Time has slowed itself down as we sit here doing nothing. Well now, we have no food, little water, Wymble has finally woken up, and Peers is staring at the door motionless. Why is he staring at the door? Hold on one moment. All right, he is staring at the door, motionless, and apparently comatose to top it off. Well, not comatose exactly, his eyes are very much alive and present. Funny though, he seems afraid of the door, and he was crying for some reason when I went over to him. The door isn’t going to hurt you, Peers. Not unless something is on the outside wanting to come in, then you might fear the door, being the best entrance. But in that case, you fear what it is outside and not the door. All right, I’m rambling at this point. I’m just going to try and get some sleep to escape from this nightmare for a little bit.
Cath
Every other pony is asleep except for me. I just want to write this down before I forget what happened, and to make sure that I’m not dreaming. I woke up in the middle of the night. Somepony had started the fire again, so I was able to see what happened, and how I can write now. Peers was still staring at the door, but he moved over to his bag and took out a large hunting knife. He went over to the door and carved a W into the door. I’m not exactly sure if I want to ask why. He seems to be getting more and more nervous.