Writing The Story Prompt: In the Middle of a Long, Cold Winter
Words to use: opera, redeem, razor, lungs, grace, futuristic, tread, vest, milkshake, powder
The blowing snow cut through her thin shirt, razor sharp and relentless. She tread lightly, trying not to upset the powder too much even though her snow shoes left obvious marks behind them.
There was also no way to be graceful on the few feet of ice hard snow as the blizzard she was trying to move through made it slippery even with the shoes. She churned up a milkshake of slush as she slid and fell numerous times, slamming into trees that would constantly knock the air right out of her lungs.
After the fifth fall, she stayed on the wet, freezing ground. The snow snuck into every nook and cranny of her body until her bones felt it too. She was trying to breathe easier since she stopped moving, but she shivered with every breath she took. “He tried to kill me over an opera,” she thought in between her shaking exhales. “Some futuristic, bullshit show that I didn’t understand.” She originally thought that one of the most redeeming qualities of her boyfriend was that he loved all types of entertainment, including operas. And while he was known to latch onto one and listen to it day in and day out, it was starting to grate on her nerves.
They had already spent most of the winter in his family’s cabin that snugly sat in the middle of the forest, and every time he put on that record, yes it was a record, she would internally cringe as he danced and sang along to a language she didn’t know or understand. But she never thought he would be so upset when she told him that she just didn’t get it.
She grasped her arms around her legs, pulling them into her chest as rolled to her side. The snow continued to bear down and cover her like a blanket. She wished she at least grabbed her thermal vest before running away from him and his father’s shotgun, but as her chills started to subside, she felt like she was finally starting to warm up. She felt hot even as she gratefully drifted off.
He found her less than an hour later with a few inches of snow covering her body already. It was honestly the snow shoes, still attached to her black and frozen feet, peaking out through the drifts that alerted him. When he pushed the snow off of her, he felt his own fingers start to freeze in their thick gloves and wondered how she got so far out into the woods with only her pajamas on.
He kept himself together until he saw her face, frozen solid but calm, peaceful. He cried then, regretting it immediately as the hot tears stayed in place on his face. He tried to move her body but she was solidly stuck to the ground. It was far too late for her and that made him cry harder.
He did have a shotgun with him that he laid on the ground when he found her, but it wasn’t for her. It was never for her. He only needed it to possibly protect himself when she suddenly ran into the woods after lunch. She’d been sick for awhile, and he knew it. He hoped taking her away from her work and the city would help. As he walked slowly to the cabin without her, not caring that his own face would probably be very frostbitten by the time he made it back, he only wondered if it was the opera that did it to her.
She obsessed over it for weeks, and while he liked most operas he didn’t really care for that one in particular. He just didn’t get it.