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Week One (Oct. 24 - Oct. 31) Topic:Cold
Winners(tied) Paul and Fiona!
WINTER WONDERLAND
By Paul
Watching the flickering embers of the slowly dying fire I knew it was only time before the tendrils of cold took us into its deadly embrace. We had one choice left to us now and that was to venture outside into the wastelands and find fuel to stay alive. It was a wasteland alien to us for five long bitterly tortuous years. We sat huddled in a tight group, silently watching the blackened paper dance and spin, its shadow mocking us rising through the hot air. It was Geoff that broke the silence, Geoff, ever the joker to the last.
‘At least Shakespeare was good for something,’ he said. I could have sworn I could see the glimmer of a smile under the crusted coating of frost he wore like a beard.
I knew under the tinted goggles he wore his blue eyes would be twinkling mischievously.
The complete works of Shakespeare had kept us warm for near on forty-eight days.
‘We need more books,’ Janet, my girlfriend uttered. Buried under a mountain of coats, blankets and a flowery duvet I could barely see the girl I loved. I looked to the bookcase that housed my beloved collection of books, but there was nothing there. Even the bookcase had gone, being the first thing to be burnt, the flames crackling and spitting as the old English oak wood had blazed merrily away.
Outside I could hear the wind screaming, sounding like an animal with its soul in torment. Scraping away thick layers of ice from the window frame I could make out the surface outside. A blizzard was blowing fresh snow on top of a surface twenty feet deep.
‘We haven’t got a chance out there,’ I told the others wearily.
‘We haven’t got a choice,’ Janet said.
‘Better go and find your library card out, looks like we’re going to need it,’ Geoff said, rising to his feet.
I thought Ted, my Granddad was asleep in the corner till I heard him moan, telling me, ‘It’s too late for me son, I’m not going out there.’ He finished his sentence with a deep throaty cough.
‘Don’t be silly, you can’t stay here, your freeze without heat.’ I told him.
‘Better to die here with my memory and family, than out there,’ he said, a violent cough racking his frail body. ‘I can still remember when we had real fuel; when you could feel the warm summer breeze as you walked in the sun.’
‘Yeah, we thought the gas was never-ending; and didn’t give a thought about the harm we were doing to the planet,’ Geoff said.
‘Is this helping?’ Janet asked, joining in with the conversation. ‘I mean, it all happened so long ago. What we need is fuel, and that is out there,’ she said, pointing a the crusted windows ‘We haven’t got a choice, and besides the library is only a mile away.’
‘Might as well be on the moon,’ wheezed Ted, ‘Ten minutes of sub-zero conditions out there and you’ve had it.’
Sitting down next to the crackling fire, the glow from the flames flickering across my face I could feel the tears flowing down my face as I spoke to my Grandfather.
‘We’re bring an extra big tin of hot soup back.’
‘You can do better than that. A big bottle of brandy do the trick,’ he replied smiling.
I gave a nervous laugh in return, ‘Done.’
‘Your Dad would have been proud of you. I remember the day you were born.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I demanded.
We both stared into the flames as he remembered the faraway past. ‘You were born on Primrose day, a sunny Saturday in April. I can remember holding you high, the sky a clear brilliant blue, not a cloud in view. Your dad was in short-sleeves, the only time I saw him not wearing his suit,’ he said, before launching himself into a fit of coughing and sputtering.
‘What was it like being alive then?’ Janet asked, putting her hand around me, squatting down to our level.
‘Live was good, the air was so fresh. You could hear the birds singing the trees, kids playing in their garden. Do know what I miss most of all?’
‘What’s that Granddad?’ I asked.
‘Mowing my lawn; the smell of freshly cut grass,’ he said, fighting back tears.
Putting my hand on his shoulder I whispered, ‘Double brandy on its way.’
‘Good-luck, you’re a good lad.’
Carefully putting the last of the books on the fire I told the others, ‘Come on everybody lets find some books to burn.’
A little later, all equipped to deal with the tundra outside we meet at the outside door.
‘I’m going outside, I might be sometime,’ I muttered under my breath.
I took one last look at the figure huddled next to the slowly disappearing fire and knew it was now or never.
‘Everyone ready!’ I screamed, before unlatching and slowly opening the door. The screeching wind blew the door handle from my hand, the door flying open and smashing against the wall.
Head down I slowly lead my small team though the doors and onto the frozen landscape. Every step was a gigantic effort as my feet slipped into the deeply packed snow. The rope round my waist was stretched taunt as I dragged the others behind me. Already the wind had tightened a vicious grip on my throat, causing my breath to wheeze. Without my goggles the glare of whiteness would have blinded me. As I tried in vain to focus on what was inches in front of me I knew Granddad had been right. We should have stayed where we were, out here against Mother Nature we were doomed to fail. Looking back already the dim lights of our base had disappeared amid the swirling snow furriers I felt sharp tug of the rope and looked backed; Geoff was mouthing something, but over the howling wind I couldn’t hear a thing. Almost lazily I sank to me knees almost happy for the cold to embrace me in its cocoon. Shutting my eyes I knew hope was just round the corner. And with hope we might find a cheap substitute fuel and save some books for an Indian summer.
Link to Paul's other writings: http://www.goodreads.com/story...
* * *
The Invitation
By Fiona
Stellia shivered as a pure white snowflake landed on her nose. It was so cold outside, especially when it was only November. Or was it December? She couldn’t remember. Stellia only knew that it had been aproximatly 2 years from the disaster. The disaster that had left her stranded on the streets of New York, having to steal in order to live, with nothing and no one to keep her safe.
A car whizzed by Stellia, causing snow to hit her in the face. She wiped it off with her bony, bare, and freezing hands. She curled up in a ball and huddled close to a the brick wall of a club. She realized it was useless to try to get comfortable, but she tried anyhow. Some drunken men staggered out of the building, laughing and burping. They gave her a strange look as they past.
Stellia remembered a time when she, too, had thought poorly of the people living alone on the streets. She was afraid of them. Now, she was one of them and regretted having never helped them. Maybe things could have been different. Or maybe not.
Stellia stared off in the distance, a memory hitting her like a ton of bricks. She remembered her nanny crying out her name and being scooped out of her canopy bed by her. She recalled kicking and screaming demanding to be put back. Stellia remembered looking through her angry tears and seeing the flames.
Soon, she came back to the present. Stellia was no longer the spoiled, rich, twelve year old she was when her father’s mansion caught fire. She would not have ran away from the care of her nanny like she had, instead of simply waiting for her father to return. Now she was skinny, scared, hungry, and cold. Stellia sniffled, holding back tears. But who would see her crying? Who would care? So she let them out.
Stellia didn’t stop crying for hours. She woke up in the morning sprawled out on the hard pavement. A pigeon made off with the stolen loaf of bread that was supposed to have been her food for the week. She sighed. Stellia would have to live without any breakfast today, though she hadn’t eaten in four days. She stood up and breathed deeply.
Where would she go? Stellia had no obligations, no where she had to be. She decided to walk to Central Park, her favorite place in the world.
She started to walk, her feet hurting her terribly. Stellia was soon lost in thought, then realized she had walked into somebody, a tall women with platinum blonde hair and too much lipstick.
“Sorry,” Stellia mumbled, starting to walk away.
The women looked at her in shock. “It…it’s fine,” she finally stuttered.
“All you alright? You look like you’ve been living on the streets,” the women said.
Stellia looked away, embaressed.
“Look, I can’t possibly leave you here,” the women sighed.
“Really, I’m fine,” Stellia insisted, though she knew she was far from it.
“How old are you?” the women asked.
“Fourteen, I’ve been living out here for two years,” Stellia said matter of factly, “I don’t need your help.”
“I really cannot agree,” the women said, “I’m going to take you to the homeless shelter. Come with me.”
“No,” Stellia refused, “I cannot trust you.”
The women smiled kindly. “Yes, you can. Please, just believe that I’m a good person and come with me.”
Stellia was terrified. She did not trust her at all. Then again, she had nothing to lose.
“Alright,” Stellia agreed.
The women smiled again. “Come,” she invited, “My car is this way.”
When they reached a small parking lot, the women unlocked her blue car and Stellia climbed into the passenger seat. Stellia knew very well that what she was doing was stupid. She might get to the homeless shelter afterall, and live a better life. She knew it was just as likely that she might be hurt or even die. This women might not be trustworthy. But what Stellia also knew is that if she had stayed where she was, she would not have lived another month.
The engine started and they drove for what seemed like forever. Eventually, the women pulled up in front of a huge gray building, and Stellia knew something was wrong.
She gulped, and turned toward the women. “This isn’t the homeless shelter, is it?” Stellia asked.
The women smiled once more, but this time evilly rather than kindly.
“No,” she said, “No it is not.”
THE END
To see other stories from this contest, go here: http://www.goodreads.com/topic...
