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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2287013-Little-frosty
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Death · #2287013
The cold wind blows, and you imagine, what if… you never recognized the heat again?
if you didn’t see the warning, here is another, mentions of suicide and death are present in this lil story, please do not read if your uncomfortable with these subjects! Ty! :D
Frostbites and bone chilling winds. That was everyday life; the heat of a fire isn’t enough, because it's also the ice. A hollow soul with only remorse and guilt for past years. My name is Kori; I suppose it’s Ice in some type of old language.
Walking through the bone-white and chilled forest, it's as if it's been stripped bare. The sun is weak and dim, barely breaking through.
And I plead, again. To the gods, if they will have me, that they at least provide a little heat. It's supposed to be warm, it's supposed to be summer, with cold fresh waves and beach vibes.
Not this cruel coldness; my fur can only take so much in the cold broken wind

How long has it been since the weather broke? While that's unknown to me. It must have been near when I was a mere, eager, kitten. eager and unaware.

A few days later from the first freeze though, my mother, unable to cope, swallowed some red swollen berries I now know as Yew. Why? Well, she must have sensed the upcoming harshness of the frosts, or not. The frothing in her mouth was mainly my concern, not the reason. But she had left this life now, leaving me all alone. All alone in the unremorseful , bitter cold, wondering how long it will be until I join her. What would she say of me now? I'm as thin as a twig, and it's been a while since i’ve eaten, the woods are frost-bitten and the few pieces of prey I manage to catch are all skin and bone. The berries cross my mind once more, but this time they leave a different aura upon me. Oh, how tempting they sound. Leave the cold, leave the pain, leave the tears. Join my mother. All a little black cat could ever want… Should I be thinking like that? Probably not. Do I care? Not since the First frost. I wonder where the berries are, and whether they still grow, or if they withered away with the black frost.

Walking away from the dirt den, I wonder again. Where can Yew be found? In a bush, judging from the leaves that were sticking out of mothers mouth.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2287013-Little-frosty