His face was the first thing one would notice. It was blueish, frozen into an expression that was a cross between scared and signed for life; dry, coarse, enclosed in a simple hat and a dark coat. He had walked the steep path down the hill. The winter was unforgiving that time of the year, November had blessed the wanderers of Oslo with the inviting smell of burning chimneys. It was the only gift from a cruel season. You could enjoy it from outside, yet there's many ways to be invited in. Before the sun sets, at 3 p. m., you're given time to make a friend, perhaps a lover; in her face you'll see a hint of the abandonment that she will face when spring comes. You'll have to wait for somebody to walk out. It will happen, eventually: they'll need to reach the little shop down the road to buy all sorts of ingredients. Tonight's dinner is strongly felt among the locals, they'll make roasts, purèes, baked goods, they'll need candeles to light, perhaps more plates. And you, cancel that expression from your face! Can't you see the girl walking? She has already come far, she's almost where she needs to be. There's still time to talk to her, maybe romance her a bit, for a piece of cod or turkey. But her face was melting in an indistinguishable orange mass. Her figure, wrapped in the white coat, was dense, almost statuary, and far away. It's already -4 degrees outside, his mustaches, his fingers, even the tip of his nose were froze. He could feel himself losing colours. Another 10 degrees drop was expected during the night. They say the skin of people who freeze to death turns purple. The pain is sharp, it makes you unmoveable. If they find you, they'll have to move you carefully, otherwhise a limb could break, or your head, as smoothly as when you step on a dry branch. You couldn't imagine it, your head into thousand pieces on the white snow that had fallen during the night you haven't survived. The red spots that were once your brain are leaves in the summertime sky, flowing with the breeze in harmony with the surroundings.
The house was now behind him, bright red, incumbent, but he wouldn't turn around anymore. If somebody had spotted him in that exact moment, he might have asked "why? what happened inside?".
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