literature

Cold

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Literature Text

A man awakes at exactly four thirty-six am, his forehead doused in sweat from yet another nightmare, his apartment completely silent, completely dark. He gets up and walks to the washroom, looking through himself in the mirror, wondering where the last twenty years of his life have gone, and what he’s amounted to. He brushes his mussed brown hair away from his fatigued emerald eyes, washes his face and gets dressed in his routine outfit of a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a black jacket. He decides to go for a drive, which he rarely does since he has never been a fan of cars or their effect on the environment, but it is too cold to walk. As he passes through the main hallway, he glances towards a framed picture upon the wall. His wife held in his arms, the most genuine of smiles across their faces and their newborn malamute asleep on her lap. They had posed for a family photo of sorts to decorate their new home. He grabs his keys from the hook above the light switch and hesitates as he opens the door, staring into the eyes of his former self.

He shuts the door and steps out into the cold.

The wind blows gently as he gets into his car, starts the engine and waits for the frost covered windows to clear up. He turns on the radio and scans through static and dross for a decent station while watching his neighbor shovel her walkway then turn to wave to him. He offers a slight wave and a gentle smile until she continues with her chore and he allows his grimace to fade. He pulls out of the driveway, glances back at his house over his shoulder and drives off. Every year, on this day, he has the very same nightmare. Today marks the twentieth anniversary of his wife’s death. They were young, eighteen to be exact, when they were married on her birthday, standing under the violet night sky, watching the snowfall. She had just begun her first year of university, with hopes reaching past the sky when he had found his dream job without notice. They had even picked up an injured puppy from the shelter nearby and raised it well together, naming it after a monstrous wolf in Norse mythology. They spent the most amazing year of their lives together, happier than anyone would have expected. One morning, he awoke and turned to her with a smile, calling her name to wake her and tell her how much he loved her. However, she never woke up. She had developed a highly fatal heart disease that remained silent for years. She had fallen asleep with a gentle smile the night before and it had seemed that she would remain blissful for eternity.

He slows to a halt in the parking lot of a diner near the Illinois state line and grabs a bite to eat. By now, as the forecast predicted, the wind has picked up and subtle flakes of snow swirl about in the air; a blizzard has begun. He takes his time washing down a slice of pumpkin pie with a sip of Mountain Dew, staring out through the window of his booth. From behind the counter, a waitress asks if he would like anything more and he shakes his head, smiles, and leaves a water ringed five-dollar bill under his now empty glass. He bids her a friendly farewell and steps back outside, walking past his car and into the blizzard, heading towards the edge of this ground where a large dried up quarry lies approximately two hundred meters below. He removes his wallet from his back pocket and browses through it. He slides out a photograph, replaces his wallet and holds the invaluable object in front of his eyes, squinting through the snow to see it clearly. It is a picture of his wife in a fantasy masquerade, authentic weapons and ear extensions to help her play the part and a smile warmer than the rays of the sun. He smirks softly at the memory of that day and feels the freezing wind brush through his hair. He is suddenly so lonely, so uncertain, so… cold. He treads into the blizzard, approaching the precipice. He is never seen again.
I wrote this short story a few years ago for an English class project. I changed a few details just now, things I found unnecessary but I left the style in tact because I like it.
© 2008 - 2024 Rensing
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