Snapped

Frosted leaves crumbled and snapped underfoot as we picked our way down the bank towards the pond. Birds strode over the ice, sneering at our awkward gaits. I admired the sunlight pouring from over the trees in the distance.

A sound like crystallised wind chimes hit the air and rang out around us. The sound filled me with a thrill I couldn't identify, fear? Awe? Our heads whipped around, eyes searching. My cousin. He giggled and threw another rock. The sound rose again. I shivered.

My breath fogged in my eyes. My swollen hands ached. I snapped another picture on my analogue camera, feeling the shutter button texture my finger. I imagined the photo would be beautiful: filled with the frosted ground, tree strewn horizon, and rising sun, gloomy from fog.

You're too close.

I'm not, I'm not.

You'll fall in.

I won't!

He stood so close to the surface of the ice, his shoes were breaking it. Even as he stumbled, arms raising into the sky to correct his balance, his wind-bitten face scrunched in determination to show he wouldn't fall in.

I snapped another picture, imagining that in the photo it would look as though he was balancing on a precipice and his shadow on the ice would reflect back at him.

We turned away.

A shout went up into the air. Our heads whipped around, eyes searching. He lay in the water, ice fragmented around.

I snapped another picture.