The Night - Original Writing

As I took my first step out of the doorway, I felt the ice below my feet and heard the wind whispering in

As I stepped out of the exit door a frigid breeze almost made me an iceberg. I did not feel my hands, legs and it caused pain in my esophagus and ears similar to the pain which I had only experienced when I licked or swallowed ice-candies in India. But this condition was pacified by the “SNOW”. When in India I remember that my family once visited one of the states of India in the Himalayan region to experience snow. During my initial few months over here snow was a pleasure to watch and I didn’t understand the reason for everybody worrying about the snowy days. I felt it needless to worry about so soft, so white, so smooth snow until I had to drive in that not so smooth snow, clean not so soft and white snow and then get exhausted to wait for the so called SPRING.

Rion calmed from his night terror easily, and he and Percival went back to sleep. When morning arrived, Rion shot out of bed with a grin, full of his typical energy. He had no memory of his tears and screaming the previous night, which was just as well; the boy deserved peace after all the heartache he had weathered.

Three days earlier on a wintery morning. I walked out of my warm apartment, as the cold breeze instantly smacked me in the face, even with my woolly, Christmas themed sweater and thick, quilted coat I was still cold. The sky was washed with grey clouds, as the ground was covered in crisp, white snow. The wind whooshed and whistled past my ears giving me the shivers; I quickly ran through the deep,

The fountain is frozen and icicles hang from the rooftop. The grass is bright white, covered in ice crystals. The sidewalks are frozen and the cars look like monstrous marshmallows. The entire family gathers for breakfast in the Mess Hall, which is an enormous room with a table shaped like a horseshoe and over two dozen chairs. Mounted deer hang on the wall, too numerous to count. A chandelier made of antlers hangs down in the center of the room. People gather around the burning fireplace for warmth. I hear pots and pans clanking together; I can smell the bacon and biscuits cooking to perfection. The smell of the brewing coffee engulfs the room. After breakfast, the kids go to our cabins and find the warmest clothes we can. We walk out the Mess Hall and everything we see is frozen. These polar temperatures are just like the ones when our family went skiing. We drove eighteen hours up to Wintergreen, Virginia for a ski trip with our cousins from North Carolina. Since it was our first time skiing, it took some practice and falling on our faces before we got the hang of it. Every night after the slopes closed, my cousins, my two sisters, and I brought sleds onto the slope and slid down part of the mountain. I can feel the arctic temperatures blowing on my face. My ears and nose turn shades of red and blue. My vision is blinded by snowflakes falling in my face. I cannot see where I am going until I hit a fence face first. I suddenly feel

The condensed snow under my feet was crushed with every step. The snow was around four inches deep, my boots made a large enough indent, that I made a noticeable trail of holes with every step. The sun had vanished behind a mountain, the sky’s light had gone from an amiable orange, to a mellow blue. I could see outline of the moon between two clouds, and the air’s bite grew colder by the moment. I had taken a detour, past a thin slice of trees near to my neighborhood. Even for a forest, it was a cold, silent place. I used to come out to places like this as a kid, quiet places where I would sit and be alone for hours. I guess I forgot how often that was, but for the moment, I had something else to worry about.

As often happens in Ohio, the weather had been up and down in temperature all week and what had been snow melted and re-froze multiple times, creating a slippery path to the building. Looking down at the ground as I walked I did my best to miss the icy patches that were steadily being covered by the light dusting of snow as it continued to fall. Halfway to the door and nearly under the protection of the entryway- which is covered by a roof- I looked up. But then suddenly instead of seeing the front door, welcoming me with the inside light which from the cold, dark morning looked like the golden sun in the distance; I

I sat on my bed looking out my window, until something came whizzing by. I jumped off my bed with an awkward bounce and ran downstairs. As I yanked on the door handle, I realized it had snowed last night. “Too late for that,” I muttered under my breath as the door finally decided to open. I ran straight towards the object from the sky, and as I reached for it, something terribly wrong happened.

To your surprise, it is custard filled. You give an embarrassing moan as you chew. It's amazing, just as you thought. You ate the whole thing within seconds after the first bite. You look around nervously seeing if anyone just saw your pig out, and to your relief you noticed no one. You wiped off your mouth with your sleeved arm and shove your hands in your pockets, trying to play it off anyway as if someone really was there. The cold consumes your face again and you shiver into the fluff of your hood. You have to admit, you hate the bitterness, but you adore winter. It's beautiful, magical and a comforting cold most of the time. THIS cold is just nonsense to you. You notice a park leading straight to Mt.Ebott that you haven't seen before. You always drove to work and never took any other route. You can assume though, so you shrug, a walk in the park as a shortcut seems nice to you. You slowly make your way across the street and onto the path. You take your time, moving at a slow pace and watching every tree you pass. Sure, it's cold but it's still beautiful. The color is still in the trees, deepened by the frost. You breathe out slowly, watching your breath come to life as you step on a stick you didn't notice. You felt it crack under your foot, but you heard no sound. You blinked, pausing for a second before continuing again. A few steps later you finally hear the crack of the stick, which made you jump. You turned around

I started towards the steps that led towards the porch. Before I reached the first step, however, I happened to glance sideways towards the lawn. Now, usually my gut instinct, woven into my work and my intellect leads me right on track. However, the gut instinct that accompanied me on every case beforehand hadn’t made its presence known yet. I grew an uneasy feeling in the back of my chest. Promising myself I would be able to split if anything went awry, I focused my eyes on the light hitting the object I was looking at. Between the rays of the gloomy sun and the dreary fog, an oak tree stood tall. No leaves grew on this colossal structure yet, as it happened to be in the late winter season. Fortunately, snow was nowhere to be found. The very presence of the crystallized ice made me uncomfortable. However, the lack of

Everything was coated with soft sprinkles of vivid and dazzling ice particles. I examined the scenery around me through the frozen metal bars around my frost bitten face. I noticed how lovely the iridescent, towering trees looked, shaped through beautiful specks of ice. I realized I was trapped in this constant suffering existence of mine. Just four months earlier had I crushed his fragile neck. The air no longer existed inside of his lungs. No longer would he breathe. Or so I had thought. I remember it as if it was yesterday.

I remember that winter. When raindrops fell covering the ground in a thick layer of ice. I looked out the window my breath fogging it up. I heard the sound of the oven ringing, and I instantly ran into the kitchen. The aroma of gingerbread permeated the air as another batch of gingerbread had just been taken out of the oven; another tray ready to slide in. Not being able to resist I put my hand out to grab a cookie when I rapidly pulled it back dropping the cookie. Deciding to wait for them to cool down, I went to the closet and put my coat on. I went outside and carefully advanced down the steps. I stepped onto the ice slipping and sliding trying to grab ahold of something. I clutched onto the pole next to me catching my balance. I started

The morning sunshine seeped through the cracks between my shutters, lighting up my room. I could hear the clock ticking and the rays of sunlight bouncing off of my eyelids. I barely got any sleep last night because I was ecstatic that tomorrow was, my birthday! I jumped up out of bed, how could I have forgotten that it was my birthday? Suddenly all of my drowsiness turned it into excitement and I jumped up, throwing the red gradient quilt off of my bed. I slowly walked out of my room, making very little noise, checking to see if anyone else was awake. I peeked through the intricate staircase railings and tried to spot anyone downstairs, no one was in sight. I tiptoed down the cream coloured stairs, reached the bottom and got startled when my mom yelled, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”, her voice bouncing off the walls of house. A grin so big spread across my face, I couldn’t believe I was turning four years old!

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

It was a frigid day in December. I wore so many clothes that I looked like a penguin. Every breath I took makes a small cloud and scattered. The gloves I worn seemed to be mildness like paws. The buildings behind me were covered by the thick snow. The wall became more brick-red because of the spotless white snow. Some snowflakes drift down on my hair gently. The snow was heavy, but not much wind. My friends bounced from worm house and laughed to me. “We should build a snowman. The snow is heavy enough.” One of my friends advised. We all cheered and started to pile the snow together.