Microfiction 005

She learned that time only makes shadows longer, until they are bigger than the person.

Song of the Wek

and there’s nothing to do about it either.

Song of The Week

This is one of those empowering songs that reminds me there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I was at this function and there was a comedian who said there are three things you should do whenever life sends horrible things your way. “It works 97% of the time” he said. First: “Let it go.” Second “If you cannot, do not, will not let it go then do something.” and lastly “If you’re not going to do anything then shut up.” I think this song embodies the first part perfectly.

The First Day

     There’s snow in August. The ground is covered in soft, wet ice kin that crunches beneath my boots. It’s weird because winter ended moths ago, but that fact doesn’t seem to stop the snow from falling. Taking a deep breath I watch my candy flavoured air crystallize and then disappear.Each breath fills my nose with sharp pricks and reminds me why I hate the cold so much. My skin is dry and prickly too. I want to scratch but I remember the blisters that cover my legs and cling to what remains of my remaining self control. I’m trembling now. In, out. In, out. In, out. I try desperately to relax myself and regain control of my body.

     Cupping my hands over my eyes I stand still hoping the warmth of the sun will somehow pierce the frigid air and warm me up, but it doesn’t. The icy wind howls, and gnashes its teeth at me instead forcing me to begin moving again. My hands and feet are icy but clammy, and beads of sweat follow gravity’s call to the ground, causing shivers to go up my spine and through my body. I remember again why I hate the cold. Knowing this my second real winter, second cold winter, doesn’t make it any easier to bear. My jacket, my layers of shirts, my gloves, my boots, my jeans, none of them ease the cold; or maybe it was much, much worse without their caress.
I hate the cold. The snow makes everything different, in appearance, scent, texture, sound, everything, the icy air even tastes different when it burst out of my lips each time my nose decides it has suffered enough.
“Snow is so pretty and magical,” the age old lie echoes in my head. Honestly it doesnt’t matter, I stopped caring about the beauty of the winter world the moment I stepped outside. The trees are exceptionally  beautiful. They look like they are holding up clouds instead of just frosty water; but I don’t care, I hate the cold. My body forces out some more air, my mouth trembles staying slightly parted while it all escapes. The lack of control reminds me once again, I hate the cold, but while I brood on the awfulness of the cold my eyes lock on the building that grows closer with each painful, rigid, trembling, stiff, cold step.

Quote of the Week

“We are not meant to be perfect, we are meant to be whole” – Jane Fonda