Category: 300

In the distance clouds hung around the middle of the mountain as dawn’s rays kissed the snow-covered peak. It was a stark change from the bleak night, and the storm that had rattled the walls he’d built up, lightning the only light in the sky.

As the winds howled in anger, shaking the windows, he’d hugged himself close and wondered if there was something he could have done to change his situation. Could he have built stronger walls? Built in a different place?

He knew it was just Nature, and would pass, but at its height when the sky lightened for a moment and he was in the eye of the storm, he wondered if he would survive?

The ensuing thunder crackled from the sky felt as though it had begun in his head and run through his body to his heart. The weight of the outside world riding the air, trying to force its way through his windows and crush him.

In the midst of the chaos he fell asleep, exhaustion and the rain drumming on the roof lulling him to sleep. He dreamt of the storm and tidal wave upon tidal wave crashing upon his naked self.

When he woke he was outside by the river, it’s edges lapping at his bare feet. The gloaming was softening the sky. He stared at the clouds move off, feeling the calm that follows a storm.

He checked himself, feeling over his body for damage inflicted by the storm. Finding nothing, he sat up. He felt good, lighter. The heaviness of the thick, stormy air had lifted. He stood up and took cautious steps  into the river, letting its icy coolness wake him.

He stared east toward the pink mountain. He felt foolish for having doubted he would survive her storm.

Snow crunched underfoot and fell in fat flakes through the artificial yellow glow of the night, melting on his jacket. He didn’t feel the cold as he made his way through the night. He was still warmed by the heat of the small gymnasium he’d left behind.

It had been hot, with the crowd pressed in against one another, leaving little room to breathe. He’d loved it, how they’d risen and reacted as one with each trip up and down the court. He’d felt a part of something larger.

The euphoria of the ‘Cats win and his dreams carried him through the snow on light feet. He hoped some day it would be him, running out on the wing on the fast break, leaping through the air to pull rebounds from the sky, releasing spinning shots that sighed through the net in the small gym bringing the crowd to its feet.

He paused to look up at the snow drifting in lazy circles down from the stars. The bare branches of the trees scratched across his view as he dreamed of life in this season of death. He felt small under the vastness of the sky.

The night’s silence was broken as a car skidded through the slush, sliding back and forth across the roadway. He stood in place as its wheels locked and the slide continued. He could see the panicked look on the driver’s face through the windshield as the car veered towards him, attempts to twist the wheel futile.

He stood, calm, as the car slid towards him and then he was moving, flying through the night air, landing hard in a snow bank. He felt nothing at first, then the cold of the snow. He thought of snow angels as he stared up at the stars.

It started in the inky darkness of the morning under a thin stream of light. I fed a piece of white opportunity into the spool of the typewriter and sat staring at it.

I don’t know if it was the lack of thoughts in my head or the lack of life at 3am, but the silence screamed in my ears. It was oppressive.

After 15 minutes of nothing, I walked to the kitchen and made coffee. Anything to break up the monotony.

I wanted to jump on the Internet to look for inspiration, but I knew if I did that I would find distraction. It’s why I was using the typewriter.

The coffee beeped its completion and I jumped a foot in the air. I took down a bottle of brandy and covered the bottom of my cup. It didn’t matter that I had to work later, this was too important. I needed to start. I needed courage.

Fear is a horrible thing. It paralyzes.

I don’t like blood either. It’s a piece of you coming out exposed to the world. If I hit a key on the typewriter I would be offering up myself in faded black ink. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone not being responsive.

So I was afraid to start. Even though I controlled whether or not anyone ever saw the page, I was paralyzed.

The coffee steamed in the pale light and I continued to stare at nothing and everything. I thought about how I ached to tell this story. And I wondered how I would screw it up. Then I felt horrible at the thought of never doing anything I wanted.

I took a sip of the coffee. The brandy burned. It began:

Tears streamed from her eyes as she pounded the keys.