Snowful Sorrow

The snow crunched under Howard’s boots, each step sinking into the white carpet blanketing the earth. Flurries danced in the air, swirling around him like confetti on New Year's Eve. The dense fog enveloped his senses, obscuring the world beyond his immediate surroundings, muffling the distant echoes of life.

With each thrust of the shovel, Howard battled against the icy resistance of the snow, his muscles straining against the weight of winter's embrace. The blade scraped against the frozen ground, a harsh symphony of effort and determination. He could feel the chill seeping through the layers of his clothing, gnawing at his bones relentlessly.

His breathing grew ragged every time he plowed into the snow, the white air of his breath forming in front of him. He continued his ministrations even with his hands stiffening from the bitter cold. Time wasn’t on his side, so like a man on a mission, he fought the impending doom that awaited him to finish his goal.

As luck would have it, his thoughts were broken by distant sirens echoing through the eerie silence of winter. His time was up, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d have to face his new reality, guilt weighing heavy like the snow beneath him. He reached down, grabbing the makeshift cross created from twigs and twine he collected earlier. Staking the cross into the tough snow that held his family, blue and red lights bounced off the reflectiveness of ice and snow, signaling his freedom was over.