This story was created for the “Snow Microfiction Challenge” in January 2024. Submissions were required to be exactly 250 words and take place in a snowy setting.
The truck spins out a tenth of the way up the hill. “We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” Dad says.
I am glad I’ve worn warm boots but regret not wearing thicker socks. As we trudge up the long hill, I try to place my feet strategically in the large footprints Dad leaves in front of me. The wind whips at my face and blows the powdery snow in sweeping puffs to the west. I pull my hat down as far as it will go, but my ears still sting. Looking behind me I can see our tracks filling in from the drifts.
A few feet ahead of me Dad looks like a strong giant wearing the new coveralls my mother got him for Christmas- a snow shovel slung over his shoulder, forging our path forward. He points out coyote tracks to the left. Ahead the old metal windmill grinds and screeches.
From the top of the hill is a sweeping view of the white dusted mountain, the brilliant white fields, and a glimmer of the river sparkling in the afternoon sun. Even in my misery it is impossible not to revel in the beauty of it. I haven’t stepped outdoors in days, the snow a perfect excuse to indulge in feeling sorry for myself for my recent circumstances. But looking now at our progress up the hill I feel the melancholy lift, just a little. This will all melt soon, I think. It always melts eventually.
About the Creator
Kerry Kehoe
badly navigated excursions into form and light >>>
self-indulgent attempts to write personal essays on the subject of being human + whatever else pours out
all photos are my own.
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Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (11)
I have definitely walked in other footsteps in deep snow and your description took me back to some of my own winter days. You do a nice job of hinting at so much more, too. Lovely.
Congratulations on Top Story! I love how much texture and heart there is in this story. Your description of the footprints filling in as they walk, the father's firm, supportive presence, and the realization that "everything will melt" weave together to make a story with many layers of emotion. This was such an awesome microfiction and so beautifully done. 💗
congrats on your top story
nice
A nice feeling, i can picture all this very well.
Love this - especially your last line. You've packed so much emotion into so few words. Excellent.
Ok, but it's too brief though
You really elevated and exemplified a brief scene into something powerful and beautiful
I loved the story and the evocation of winter.
AMAZING WORK PLEASE CHECK MY PROFILE
Very beautiful, with lovely descriptive writing. Congratulations