In order to reach the whistle and save myself, I had to drop the frozen, lifeless hand. I had been floating aimlessly and alone, numb to all around me. My lips an icy blue, my skin a ghostly white, I held on to life if only for the reason that my hand was frozen tight in the Patriarchal Grip. Dewy tears clung to my lashes like little particles of ice, weighing down my eyes and closing them to all in my peripheral sight.
