SURVIVING THE STORM
Alberta Clipper
The snows do blow, and the winds do wail
This winter has been brutal. The January squalls have turned into full blizzards this year. What’s worse is when the snow isn’t falling, the winds keep the fresh snow whipping off the ground, keeping the storm alive. It’s been two months of whiteouts and misery. My wood supply is running low, and keeping the fire burning in the stone hearth has become a monumental chore. I have lost most of my livestock to the cold, and it doesn’t look hopeful for the rest.
We’ve had it relatively easy — me and my dog, Buck — with shelter and supplies. It hit those wild mountaineers worse. Both acquaintances and strangers, straggling through the snow, trying to make it to the coast, have attempted to scavenge everything that I don’t have under lock and key. I’ve taken to nailing the corpses to the fence to deter others.
Strangers may be friends you haven’t yet met, but when they try to steal from me, they become friends I haven’t killed yet. And kill them, I must.
They still come. The wind drives them, while the snow blinds them and the cold tortures them. Extreme weather drives men to extreme measures.
It will not overcome me.
I started this story as a submission to SNAPSHOTS based on a photo of my dog looking over a small, plastic garden fence, but it became too bleak, so I continued it here, and turned it into a story that fits into this weekly challenge.
Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all. You can follow him on Twitter @pmansfield.
If you like this story, try a Science Fiction tale.
