On Blizzards

Its a very dull Sunday morning.  Very dull.  So I will write a short story for.... myself.


The night was cold.  The wind howled outside and the window ledge was piled with snow, but inside the house a fire crackled merrily.  A man sat in a rocking chair beside the fire, apparently deep in thought.  Shadows played in the corner of the room, tumbling and turning over each other.  With a start, the man stood up and reached for the bookshelf above the fire, drawing out a thick, leather bound novel.

He studied the cover for a while before opening the book.  Inside the book he found a long letter, written in a flowing script.  For a long time the man stood, re-reading the letter. Then, he took it out of the book and placed it in his pocket.  He left the book on the table and quietly shuffled into a side room.  The man came out cradling a sleeping child in his arms.  The baby looked to be no more than a year old and was wrapped in many layers of fur.  Then the man softly touched an older boy who lay in the room, also sleeping.  The boy roused himself with a sense of urgency.

"Papa?" The boy asked.
"Yes son?" The man said handing the boy a pair of leather boots, "Put these on, quickly!"
"Where are we going?" Again, the boy questioned.
"Away, don't ask any more questions.  Dress warmly, we will be outside for a long time"
"Yes, papa"

When the boy was ready, they all exited the house.  The baby in the mans arms woke and began to cry but the group continued their trudge through the blizzard.  They walked the whole night, and only when dawn broke did they reach a small cave almost completely submerged by snow.


..... Creative exhaustion. I'll write more later... However I would appreciate comments! Thanks,

Elven