At least.

I had no idea how much time I have been in the freezer, but my limbs were starting to get numb. I was shaking, clutched like a ball, so's to keep as much of body heat as I could.
"They're gonna find me, they will let me out. They will save me and I will have a warm cup of tea," I kept telling myself. I lied to myself, because that was the only way I could endure the cold. There were no ''they''. I tried imagining what's it going to be like when I get out, to feel all that warmth. The cold was stinging my lungs. I needed to breathe slower. Calmer. I needed to remain calm. "Everything is going to be alright,'' I lied.
The freezer was full of, well, frozen meat. Meat hanging on hooks, just like you would normally imagine a meat freezer. And I was just another piece of meat, placed in the freezer, waiting, to be hung on one of those hooks. I had no idea how I got in here, but I so wanted to get out.
''It's been less than an hour I've spent here, that is certain,'' I thought, ''after all, I am not shivering all that much. But what if the door never opens? What if I am to freeze here, on the spot? I don't want to die like this. Not like this. What was it called? Hype . . . no. Hyp-, hypo-, ah, hypothermia. Hypo-low, thermia-themperature, of course.'' For some reason, the fact that I remembered the word for that condition amused me, but just for a second, until I really started to think about it.
Hypothermia wasn't the idea I had in my mind, when I used to think of death. Hypothermia, death from freezing, a condition in which the core temperature drops below the normal requirement for metabolism and body functions.
As moments passed, with each shiver my eyes were racing across this small icy chamber. I knew, that if that door is not opened, it is only a matter of time before life dissipates from my body, leaving but an empty vessel of what others were used to perceiving as me. Of course, as time went on, it was becoming increasingly difficult to conjure up words in my head, and I retracted, more and more, into non verbal thinking. Not because it was beneficial, but rather for the reason of me being unable to keep my rationalization skills at their sharpest.
By the moment I had a thought of getting up once more, to bang on the door, to scream for help, to move, just to move, cause I foolishly thought it would somehow help me in this predicament, I found myself unable to do that. I was unable to get up, and, by this moment, I started to panic. As much as I tried to shout for help, all I could get from the top of my lungs were sounds that sounded more like an agressive wounded animal that was shouting just for the sake of being heard. The animalistic shrieks that I threw at the door in front of me just bounced against it, the walls, the meat carcasses, and went back to me.
I didn't realize it was pointless. When you're at the verge of death, you panic. Your survival instinct kicks in, telling you to do anything you are able to do, just to survive. The problem with hypothermia is that, once it reaches certain level, you are unable of thinking clear, hell, you start forgetting the simplest things. I couldn't even recall what a dog looked like. Not that I tried to, or that it mattered, but, I couldn't remember such a simple thing.
I tried to look up at the carcasses, but all I was able to see were blots of color. A dab of crimson there. A mixture of yellow ochre and a tiny bit of red here. Some bluish gray on the door. I couldn't tell apart the shapes, everything was a single shape, an entity. Every color touched the other color in a rather intimate fashion. Of course, I did not understand, what was going on. Shivering was pausing, at moments. I couldn't tell apart what it was like to shiver and not to shiver.
Curled up in a foetal position, I was just laying there, shivering had stopped. I kept watching the intimate dance of the color bits. They were my last entertainment, before my vision got too blurred, and, ultimately, I stopped seeing altogether.
Pale skin, pupils dilated, reduced breathing and heart rate. This stage is called hybernation. You appear to be dead, frozen to death, though, in fact, you are not. As far as I am concerned, after this point is reached, there is no salvation. Albeit I did not realize it, the little bit of my rationality knew that I am going to die. First, the heart stops, but it actually takes quite a while for the brain to join it. Maybe not a while in the living sense of time, the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years, but, when you reach this state, perception of time is almost nonexistent.
Heart gives in first. If I was able to, I'd laugh at all the romantics, that say that they live by their heart and that ''love is all you need, as long as you have a heart'' to survive. I'd laugh not because I found it funny, but, rather because I found it so unbelievably and ironically stupid. And then, those few, propably very tiny moments later after my heart stopped, I ceased to exist.
My body was all that was left of me. This vessel that so many thought was me. This body, that had curled up into a foetal position, this pale blue skinned thing that, in a way, used to be me. It would be found the next day by some worker in this slaughterhouse.
Investigation would prove that some nutcase had decided to extend the list of its victims, by adding me to it. That person gained pleasure of knowing that others died in such a manner. They never found the person that had drugged me and left me there to die, but all that did not matter anymore, not to me, at least.
There would be people at my funeral, crying. There would be people praying, and there would be children, that were unable to understand what's the big deal all about, until their parents explained that their relative has gone away and is never going to return. At least, by the time they buried me, I had thawed.