Microfiction
Destination: Anchorage, Part 3
“Eddie, Mimi, we are finally past spooky Kluane; the lights across the lake and no vehicles on the road made it eerie. The howling wolves creeped you out, didn’t they Eddie? You were all shivering and whining. Yep, and Mimi slept through all of it. It’s OK, Eddie, just a few more days until we get to Anchorage.”
By Andrea Corwin 2 years ago in Fiction
Upon A Cold Winter's Eve
A frozen hand, blue-tinted fingertips poking through white snow. Blue, black, white, blue, black, white, as if those were the only colors I had ever known, the only dyes with which to paint this wintry landscape. I drew closer and the wind stripped away a layer, to be replaced by more.
By Laura Pruett2 years ago in Fiction
Finding Love in Winter
“I’ll take the dog for a walk if you want to stay in bed,” you offer. It’s freezing here by the lake and walking the dog was the last thing I wanted to do, snow and ice crunching beneath his paws and my boots. My visits to your place were initially overshadowed by my need to get home in time to take him out, snowy drives back to the city punctuated by a quick trip outside to let him pee and a text from my flip phone to let you know we made it home safely. I’d tell you goodnight and let my dog’s gentle snores lull me to sleep.
By F Cade Swanson2 years ago in Fiction
Tapioca Snow
In Los Angeles, we rarely see snow. Decades go by before a snowflake remains and winters only reach a desert cool that chills your bones but never reaches snowfall. Not the cold needed for that soft layer of flurries like a fresh shaven snow cone. I longed for those winters, not because it fit the perfect picture of an icy paradise. Under those layers of snow, perhaps I could discover lost memories of my father. The times before we moved to the sandy beaches where we built snow forts instead of snow castles. There were memories of him I had long forgotten, buried & frozen in snow.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in Fiction
The Leaf
Every step is strategically placed as she makes her way across the ice. The pond’s been frozen solid for well over a month. Glancing up at shadowed skies, she sees delicate snowflakes beginning to fall. Despite wearing heavy layers and boots against the cold, she’s freezing. Will spring never arrive?
By Cindy Calder2 years ago in Fiction
Water Spirit
Cold up to my thighs hugs me stiffly as I push through the piles of white. Down, down, I traverse. The mountain looms behind me like a watchful guard as I descend towards the ribbon of teal. Rushing, gurgling, churning water over stones drowns out the pants of my breath and the thudding in my head. The river is closer now, just beyond the stretch of my arms. Ice closes the edge of its bank in ragged, broken sheets. A raven calls out from the birch forest. The mountain shudders. The snow is not as deep here, and I tug my feet free at last. My steps stumble. I lean forward, my hands on my knees, and wait to catch my breath. The thin nightdress clings to me like a sheet to a ghost. Chills dance up my arms and down my neck.
By Laura Lann2 years ago in Fiction
