The snow piled on top of the ice that had formed over night. The white powder blanketed everything as the flurry raged on. White out conditions. No rational person would venture into such a blizzard. But, children were held to higher standards as they were ushered out front doors to trudge to school.
His boots crunched through the layers built upon layers. Every step was a struggle as the snow tried to suck him down into its depths. He kept waiting to pull his foot up and find that his shoe had fallen victim to the grasping ground. His arms at his side for balance, he wished desperately to plunge his frozen hands deep into his jacket pockets. The chill of the morning had no problem biting deep through his gloves to feast on the meat and bones of his fingers.
Hills spread across his field of vision. He was in a valley and every direction he looked was uphill. His legs ached from the exertion. His mind reeled from fatigue. He had a thousand vivid flashes of the snow cascading down and burying him. With every step forward, every step up, he morbidly welcomed such a fate a little more. It would mean rest. It would mean an end to the absurdity of his trek back and forth to school.
The snow held, though, and he traversed the hills successfully to arrive safely at the little brick school house. He stomped his feet on the landing to break off the ice crystals that had gathered halfway up his legs, pulled the stocking cap from his head and brushed off the snow that had begun to gather there, and then pushed into the door with a happy sigh as he was buffeted by a warm gust of air.
Charles woke with a start, momentarily confused by the darkness around him, and in a panic, he clutched the sheets tight across his chest. His eyes adjusted, his mind joined the present, and he realized he was in his room and had been dreaming, an old man’s dream. The pain of the cold remained, and he massaged the ache from his limbs and snorted at the absurdity of the whole mess. Never in his 82 years had he been forced to walk through deep snow to school or on any other errand. He’d always lived near the beach.
Word Count: 395
It is silly. It is Tuesday. It must be another Inspiration Monday prompt response. I never heard any stories like this from my parents or grandparents growing up. But, the idea of them is so prevalent that it was the first thing I thought of for the prompt I chose:
There are none. Read the prompts, get inspired, write something. No word count minimum or maximum. You don’t have to include the exact prompt in your piece, and you can interpret the prompt(s) any way you like.
No really; I need rules!
Okay; write 200-500 words on the prompt of your choice. You may either use the prompt as the title of your piece or work it into the body of your piece. You must complete it before 6 pm CST on the Monday following this post.
THE OTHER ME
OLD MAN’S DREAM
THE END OF FOREVER
What about you? Did your parents ever do the “you kids have it so good now” kind of stories? What was the farthest fetched out of them?