Icy Prison

I don't like it here. I'm here as punishment. I think. I did something, and that's why I can't leave.

It's perfect. In a way. Pretty. There are small comforts. My little home is perfectly functional. Not too cold. That's mainly because it's so small.

What makes it worse is, out there is so big. The mountains are achingly wide, the sky pure and cold. I can almost taste the air up there. Thin, heartless. I sometimes see children running about like ants in the snow. Tiny noses and cheeks are bitten raw by the chill, but they're free. I shy away from that thought, afraid of it. Why?

My world shakes, and I fall to the floor. It's happening again!

It's only when the violent quaking already started, I remember it's happened before. The memory comes crushing down like an avalanche, leaving me gasping. Fear swallows me, the surety that this time the little house will collapse on top of me. I crawl across the rumbling floor towards the door. Flakes whip past the window that, moments ago, was crystal clear.

I stagger outside, wheezing. The ground finally settles, but the blizzard still rages. Shielding my face with one arm, I grope forward with the other, blind and stumbling in the drifts. Whenever a flake lands on my exposed skin, I'm enveloped in a memor-

-acrid stink of alcohol and vomit stinging my nose, warmth of the fireplace-

-press of bodies, sequinned dresses, carefully styled hair, expensive aftershave-

-twinkling lights, the room spinning. Music, loud over the noise of people. I'm warm all over, inside and out-

-outside, cold, bitterly, feet crunch on snow and salted ice. Fumble on the icy handle, thrum of the engine, focus-

-on the road, dark, snowing, pretty with all the lights, the Christmas lights... no, red and blue lights. Sirens. Red on the snow-

It all comes back, in a burst of blood, why I've been put here. With one hand on the glass, gazing at those mountains, I crack under the stinging weight of what I did.

The snow settles. It's peaceful. But I don't like it in here. I can't leave because I... did something. I think.

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Word count excluding note: 366

Submitted on Tuesday 6th August at 23.06

Thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent.

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one continues my 217 day streak since 1st January.

Please do consider lending your support to the other creators who are also on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They are putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Please do leave me a comment. I try to reciprocate as many as I can. Leaving a comment makes that easier.

The story behind the story: This is my submission to Mackenzie Davis' TAG! Photo Game. Click on the link for the rules.

I was tagged by Alexander McEvoy here (his piece is great, go and look!) He set me Donna Fox's photo Holiday View. I used the picture as my cover image, but I cropped it down a little. You can see the unedited version, and lots of other submitted pictures for this game, here.

I TAG Paul Stewart with Natalie Wilkinson's image (Robert Gould Shaw Memorial). You can see the picture, along with several others, here.

I wrote this relatively quick, finishing on the same day I was tagged. The tricky part was I got several story ideas today and didn't know which one to work on! I hopped from one to another for a while until I hit my stride on this one.

Thank you again!

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed!

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