Were *I* the head editor of Reader's Digest, I wouldn't run the standard boring "Real Life Drama" columns, rather, the following:
As I braved nearly 800 millimeters of frigidly packed, suspended ice particles, I started hearing a deafening cracking sound. Looking beneath my quivering feet, I noticed the very sheet of ice below me was rapidly disintegrating, leaving a mere few fragments between me and the toxic asphalt below. Just then, I realized the postal carrier truck swerved slightly toward me. I had to move and do it FAST. As I hurled myself across the parking lot I was hit by a stray spheroid of solid frost! I could feel the force throw my head asunder, while each of the tiny shards flung toward every inch of my face. I landed face down onto nature's hitman, the snow bank. My entire cranium blistered with the subzero kiss. I feeblely tried to steady myself with my last two remaining arms, but it was no use - I hadn't stopped for my morning coffee. I curled into the fetal position hoping for a miracle, but it just wouldn't come. I felt like sobbing like a little girl, but the saline leakings would have only frozen and finished me all the quicker. I could feel myself succumbing to unconsciousness. I held my head up one last time before it all went dark. I awoke several hours later, to find I was being jabbed with the handle of a shovel of one of the parking lot guardians. The sun had risen it's temperamental face, and given it's life to save mine. As my selfless friend lowered forever out of the sky, I thanked him one last time. I had survived, but at what cost?