Light And Fluffy It's Not. An attempt at Personification.
Written for "No Dialogue Contest" ~ Word Count: 663
Snow wasn't playful. Snow was an evil trickster, enshrouding the pilot's view of the terrain below. Everything hidden from sight by blinding, swirling Snow. No matter how low he flew the pilot couldn't see any familiar landmarks, he was blind and horribly lost.
Snow wasn't fair. Without warning, it struck out from clear blue skies. Snow's sudden squall engulfing the small aircraft and its puny human content in a sea of white. Foolishly, he expected Snow to disappear as quickly as it had roared to life. Flying into the storm was obviously an imprudent choice, but one he would live with, or die with. That would be Snow's choice.
Snow had no honor. Flying low allowed Snow to slowly, steadily build up on the wings of the plane. Snow's added weight made the pilot fight harder to keep the plane aloft. Snow stole precious fuel, the Piper Seaplane laboring forward under its ever-increasing drag. With little choice he ascended back above the clouds. The compass indicating his direction was true, but little else. No airport beacons or GPS from cell phones helped this deep Alaskan wilderness.
Snow was patient. It accumulated slowly, never in a rush. Multitudes of infinitesimal flakes building great mounds of white. Snow's effect was not lost on the Piper, wandering aimlessly above it, the plane's fuel dwindled. Engines sputtering, the pilot flipped the toggles switching to the planes auxiliary tank. With little choice left he began to descend, searching for a safe place to set the plane down.
Snow wasn't cooperative. Snow hadn't slowed its furious onslaught, nothing but featureless white appeared below. Fighting fear and anger the pilot descended still lower. The first slaps against the seaplane's pontoons were light, the top branches of the trees caressing the Pipers undercarriage. Slow to react the pilot didn't pull up quickly enough, a larger crash jarred the plane, followed by another that wrenched control from the helpless pilot.
Snow wasn't forgiving. Out of control the plane tumbled from the sky, Snow's dead-weight adding to the battle the pilot fought in vain, Snow had already doomed its victim. The pilot could only control the crash and pray. Snow buried the plane, the impact sending up a billow of powdery white high the air.
Snow was deceptive. Just before Snow claimed the plane, the pilot saw smoke from a small cabin in the distance. He marked the smokes direction. If he survived the crash, there was still some hope. One small chance of salvation, if he could make it to the warmth of the cabin, he might survive.
Snow wasn't fluffy or light. Dazed and in shock, the pilot struggled to open the cabin door, partially buried in the seaplane's snowy grave. Using his legs, he forced it open inch by inch, spurred on by the pungent odor of aviation fuel filling the cabin. The door opened, allowing Snow to bury him in an avalanche of cold wetness, instantly chilling him to the bone. Crawling from the cabin, the pilot staggered away from the plane in time to turn and see it explode into flames.
Snow was unlucky. Hearing several muffled thumps, the Ranger who occupied Fire Control Sector Bravo looked up from his book. The window showed that the squall had developed into a full fledged storm. The Ranger saw no need to venture out into Snow, risking his life to check on falling trees made no sense. Many more trees would be coming down tonight.
Snow wasn't helpful. Cold, light and powdery, the pilot sank deeply into Snow with each step. Even with the help of the broken tree branches he used as walking sticks each step was laborious. Tiring quickly, stopping often, his goal, the smoke rising from the distant chimney seemed to get farther away with every tortured stride.
Snow wasn't a dream. Snow was a murderous nightmare, claiming the pilot quietly, burying him and his plane in a white grave that wouldn't reveal itself until Spring.