CARPET OF SNOW
Leaving the cosy confines of the sitting room and the raging open hearth fire, the heat of which has embraced my very soul, I make my way slowly to the door, the last line of protection between me and the hostile winter cold that awaits outside. Bitter; fierce and unfriendly, bu t I push the handle down, open wide and thrust myself out into the freezing cold onslaught.
Immediately I become intimately acquainted with a bullet of a snowball, playfully aimed at me with missile like accuracy and leaving a ferocious imprint upon my face, now reeling from the icy impact, my cheeks stung from the blow. I loose my balance, momentarily falling backwards, my right hand instinctively reaching out to the side to prevent an embarrassing encounter between my backside and the ground. My gloveless hand however does not comply, lifting itself up into the air, wincing with the cold and ultimately leaving me on my posterior, inspite of my best efforts to save myself.
Despite the overwhelming urge, I resist the temptation to wallow in any sort of self-pitying introspection and promptly push myself back up onto my feet. I look around to see where the object of my temporary humiliation came from, scanning with squinted eyes (due to the blinding winter sun) our thickly forested ‘Narnia’ enclave. My stationary search seemed to be in vain, and the lure of the still burning fire inside became increasingly appealing to my shivering skin; now screaming out for some much needed warmth, until I spot that familiar; sweeping smile, peering out from behind the snow-covered bushes.
Mischievous; beguiling and irresistable, I suddenly forget what season I’m in and propel myself myself out into the snow, thick carpets of it crunching underneath my feet as I run towards her, gathering the magical white substance into my numbed hands as I go; condensing it and shaping it into the seasonal ball-shaped weapon of un that it is. Giggling and laughing, she turns one way; then another, desperately trying to evade my grasp, yet secretly longing to be caught and lost in my embrace as I have been many times in hers. I almost manage to get a hold of her wavy brown hair as it catches in the wind.
Then a shot rings out!
I freeze in my tracks, but the winter has nothing to do with it. She has stopped too, dead and lying on the ground, the full; vibrant color of her face squeezed completely out of her. Another color, red, is now seeping out from underneath her jacket and staining this thick carpet of snow.