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Rated: E · Fiction · Nature · #2106816
A super short story I wrote almost three years ago.


February 2014

The cold piercing my skin. Little needles made of ice stabbing at my face, my hands, penetrating my clothes to prick at the flesh beneath. I breathe deeply, forcing shattered glass into my lungs. Tears, frozen by the wind, bind to my cheeks. A battle raging on my lips--warm breath and frigid air fighting to gain an advantage. I try to turn my back on the glacial wind, but my boots betray me. The icy sidewalk rises to assault me. My knees land on the thick slab of frozen sleet, blinding me with pain. Crawling, with wet gloved hands, to the dirty mounds left by the plow, I pray no one witnesses my embarrassment. I sit defeated as the snow gladly delivers frostbite to my backside.

With a new resolve, I force myself back on my feet. Cold, wet, and injured I forge ahead. I focus steadfast on my endeavor. Each successful step renews my pride. Forcing the wind and bitter air out of my mind, I travel on. I no longer notice the numbness in my limbs and digits. Closing in on my destination, my pace quickens. I'm closing in, it's within my line of sight. I become a missile locked on its target. A few more steps and my journey will be complete. Another foot before I embrace the warmth. I arrive. I am home. I am cold, wet, and injured, but I did not let myself fail.

© Copyright 2016 Ragna Bjornson (ragnab at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2106816