The Lonely Snow Storm

The Lonely Snow Storm

By

Paul Kivelson

Food, nothing else mattered. It had gotten cold; he was left wondering why, the seasons a mystery. But in the end, such somber thoughts mattered little. The cold was nothing to the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach. The cold numbed while the hunger hurt. He was so hungry, did he mention that? Because it was all he could think about. He had seen better days. He pressed on walking step by step though the deepening snow, instincts demanding one foot to be put in front of the other. Something scampered in a tree, something he could eat if he could catch it. Too fast, too high, it would be pointless to try. His father always called him lazy, citing that he was the first back whatever the amount of food he had gathered. He had wanted to stay longer. He had wanted to prove himself. They called him a boy he wanted to show them he was a man. It had not worked out very well; he was quite content being a boy if it meant something to eat. He had gotten lost in the snow, blown and spun around like the thousands of dancing white speck swirling around him.

He scanned for food, finding instead only trees and snow. He decided he hate snow, even thought it numbed to the pain. His foot lashed out, wasting precious energy in a futile act of frustration. The pile of snow he had kicked spraying up in every direction. He blinked and the frozen geyser of his frustration slowly drifted down onto the ground leaving him no closer to his goal. Now everyone will know that I was here, that I still am here. He had built the snow up so much in his head he had almost expected a biting rebuke from the fluffy white blanket. The snow was silent. He was still alone, but at least he had his stomach. If he ever started to forget its presence it reminded him with a loud grumble. The snow quickly covered up his rough declaration with another gentle coat. It would not let him keep even that.

“I want to go home.” He thought he might be going mad but did not care. Everyone needs someone who will listen when everything seems hopeless and he was all he had. Not the best company, but he had made do with worse.

“I need to stay positive, things could be worse.” Things could be worse; even he could not reframe this situation. He could be really aggravating when he choose to, maybe his brothers where right about him. A small sound stuck him from his self deprecation and returned him to the somber reality he faced. Hunting was never his forte, a point ground into his head. He could try to go find the source of the sound, gambling on it being edible or conserve energy and trudge on.

“I am scared.”Admitting it was harder than he expected. He wanted to curl his five foot frame into a small ball and let the awful cold numb it all. The extra pelt lovingly provided by his sister was the only thing that kept him going. Love can heal all wounds, or at least slow freezing to death. He did not want to die.

“Well we, by that I mean me can only keep going.” Talking to himself was getting confusing, he had other more pressing things to think about. The whimpering in the distance waned on. He ran forward following the fearful noises. His feat crunched into the snow, but this time he did not pause to watch his passage swept away by the snow. He simply kept on running. He ran right into a clearing possessing a small squeaking creature, wounded and struggling. It was also seeking survival. A rabbit of some sort, he thought. He sighed, he had things to do. He was not safe, but it was a step and with each step a little more hope was gained. He was going to keep walking until he found his way back. But first it was time to shut his stomach up.