I have always wanted to write. A few years ago, in an attempt to get me to write, my friend Mindy gave me a topic to write a short story about. Forever Winter is the result. At the end of the story, I will share with you what that topic was.
It was cold, very cold. It was always cold. Had it ever been any different than this? He pondered the thought. It was a thought that he considered often. He would pick it up, inspect it, and try to recall just how it had been; like an old man trying to find the summers of his youth.
Once... once there had been warmth, a sense of festivity, others to alleviate his solitude, but no, that must have been a dream. All he could remember now, was the being alone, the cold, and the forever winter in his soul.
Still, he tried to remember. The vague images of others would at times infiltrate the corners of his mind. He would reminisce on fleeting thoughts that he could not quite grasp and hold on to. Then, when he was almost sure that there had been others at one time, "CRACK" "CRUNCH", and with the sound of thunder; as if delivered by Thor himself, the others had disappeared, one by one. "CRACK" "CRUNCH", recollections lost to oblivion.
If they had been there, they were gone now; gone like the snows in August. He was alone now, so very alone. There was no doubting this. And cold, oh so very cold. If he could just find some catharsis, have an epiphany of some sort that would release him from the torment of his solitude. Perhaps this would bring him out of his shell. But no, this he knew would never happen. It was his fate, his destiny, to stay trapped inside, lurking about in this manner until the end. ...forever cold. ...forever alone. ...forever winter.
light~dark light~dark light~dark light~dark ...and so went the days of his life. He whittled away at the emptiness, at the wasted days of his life, and when the carving was complete, there was emptiness, just as he started with.
Why? Why was he left here to die alone, cold and alone? What had he done? Where was his savior? His life was senseless, devoid of meaning, and sad, oh how sad. He ached deep in his soul. There had to be meaning to life. There had to be purpose. Life as he knew it was torture, wounds covered with salt, waiting in despair for the end, an end that should have happened long ago. Why must it go on like this? Why could it have not ended long ago? He had made it well past the holidays. Why should he go on any longer? More days, more nights, and he lay there doing nothing, feeling the cold, feeling the burden of his aloneness, and feeling the forever winter.
Then... plucked from the bowl of his despair, he was freed; as if a giant hand had reached down at the last possible moment, and saved him from himself.
"Mom, look", the little boy cried.
The mother continued to stir the pot on the stove, not once looking up.
"Mom, look at this", the boy tried again.
With the patience that only a mother has, she turned to look. As
usual, nothing too grandeur, just five year old Timmy being goofy like always, but how fun she thought, that she had a goofy five year old to watch. How wonderful life was.
Timmy held up his latest distraction for his mom's inspection. There in his hand was his little toy cowboy, and next to Cowboy Bob, was a peanut with Cowboy Bob's hat on.
"Well what do you have there?" she asked.
Giggling, Timmy squealed, "I found one last peanut in the peanut bowl. Can I have it?"
"Well, I don't see why not." she said as she went back to the stove.
Finally, something different, a warm hand, a kind word, the presence of others... ...winter no more, nothing lasts forever... "CRACK" "CRUNCH"
The topic I was asked to write about, was a peanut wearing a cowboy hat. It was winter when I wrote this. My feelings for winter may have shown through.