Snow Day

A Flash Fiction Magic Adventure

“You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Ella hums as she carves a snowflake design into the wood paneling with a kitchen knife. She doesn’t turn, her dark curls bobbing ever so slightly in time with her song as she scratches away at the wall and my sanity. For a moment I consider asking her to stop, but a little irritation is better than the alternative.

It’s been 53 days since the snow storm started raging outside. I rub my hands to warm them, my fingertips numb and blackened from frostbite. Every day the temperature drops more and more inside the cabin, and survival chances seem bleak. My head pounds behind my eyes, and I’m clammy from a fever that has lasted for days.

“Can I make you breakfast? I have enough ingredients to make some pancakes.”

She doesn’t turn. “Don’t use the stove. I can eat the ice cream in the fridge.”

I swallow the fear rising up in my throat and speak as gently as possible. “Ella, I’m not going to make it without some sort of heat.”

The wind howls at the windows, giant snowflakes spinning around in a great vortex.

“No stove,” she repeats. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Hum. Hum. Hum. The storm held outside by paper thin walls.

“You can’t possibly expect…”

Ella pauses and turns as the wind stops abruptly.

She is worse today than yesterday. Her once brown eyes have turned cold and her lips, pale. Her rosy cheeks are deathly white, dotted with intricate snowflake freckles.

“No. Stove.”

A chill runs down my spine, though I can’t tell if it’s real or imagined. The wind picks up again outside, and I swear I can hear glass crack in the windows. Frost starts to form around the edges. I raise my hands in surrender, and echo her. “No stove, Ella. No stove.”

The air around me warms ever so slightly, and I slowly go back upstairs to bury myself under the heated blanket keeping me alive. I can’t pinpoint the moment my sister became a snow maiden, but I’m sure at this point the change will kill me.

“I can help, you know.” Ella stands in my doorway. There’s compassion in her voice, though . “You don’t have to suffer....I don’t want you to suffer. The cold isn’t all that bad, you know.”

Her frigid hand touches my feverish forehead, and my world goes black.

_____

A few years ago I stumbled onto an Instagram hashtag and started writing little stories. With the hashtag came a chat, and with the chat, community. Where we don’t write these together anymore, we came together for a throwback story day. Thanks to Emily Barnett for bringing us together. I’m sharing the Substack postings in some notes. Enjoy friends!