Study No. 1

My head hurts from trying to decide whether 729 is nine cubed or not, so I'm going to drown my math sorrows with writing.

He woke up staring at a white ceiling. His eyes darted around, and he noticed that the walls were white too. And so was the soft ground he lay upon, and the blanket that covered him. Rejuvenated from his nap, he stretched his body, and as soon as he did so, he gasped.

As his muscles erupted into shivers, he jerked upright. The snow covering his body slid off, revealing the grey t-shirt he wore under. He felt as though a wave of freezing water had just passed over him. He curled up into a ball, and turned his head wildly, taking in his environment. But there was nothing to observe; everywhere was white. Thick snow covered the floor, and fluffy flakes fell gently from the sky. A gust of icy wind passed over him, and he twitched so violently that he fell back.

The air froze his nasal passages, making them feel like they opened and closed as he breathed. It was sharp in his throat, slicing into his lungs and penetrating through his flesh. He could taste the metallic winter weather on his tongue, its unforgiving emptiness draining his thoughts. His bare fingers and toes were rapidly losing heat to the chilling draft.

Half-heartedly, the man tried to stand, but his legs locked up mid-stance. For a second, he squat in place as though a stone statue, and then he fell backwards. The renewed contact with the snow sent harsh tingles surging through his spine. He felt as though he were being electrocuted, jerking and flailing around with no control over his own movements.

The eerie silence mocked his inability to speak. He tried to yell out, but no sound came; his voice had died before it came out. He clutched at his arms with his hands. A blunt pain developed in his feet; they were beginning to freeze. He tried to flex them, and with great difficulty, his toes bent slightly.

His numb hands were turning white as his body shut off its blood flow. His breathing slowed, but his quavering did not. Stumbling upright, he staggered forward a few steps, unaware of the distress in his feet. His breath came out in a long stream of steam, pouring out valuable body heat. Again he tried to flex his toes, but they felt as though icy plates surrounded them, snapping and reforming with every movement. He could no longer straighten his pale fingers, nor did they respond to touch. The cold was excruciating, but there was nothing he could do. Dropping back down into the snow banks, he winced as a frigid blast flew around him, howling in his ears.

Too tired to move, he was left with no choice but to lie there in the bitter cold. His pupils constricted, blurring his vision. A subtle fatigue crept through his body. He knew that he should keep flexing his muscles, but the calming breeze made it oh-so-difficult to keep going. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. Maybe he'd wake up in a few moments in a nice, warm bed in his house. He felt extremely light-headed, and closed his eyes as the world dissolved around him.

My goal was to make the scene as vivid as possible, by describing all 5 senses (except smell, which I couldn't really fit in). Did it work? I may or may not create more studies that focus on one aspect of writing.