Snow Is Cold Short Story

Snow is cold. It is frozen drops of rain, after all, yet it still chills me to the bone. Not just the thought of it, or the feeling of it, but the memories that come with it. Snow is cold, but there are some things that are colder than it that will chill me forever. It happened years ago, when I was in fourth grade. My friends, Spurthi and Maya, and I were outside for recess. The wind was howling, pushing little sparkles of snow and wisps of frosty coldness along with it. We walked close together, hands in our pockets, huddled together to stay warm. Yet I could feel the frigid air biting at me, aiming especially at my hands. I’d forgotten to wear my gloves. It was a mistake that seemed so minute back then, but what was, essentially, the cause of it it all. It was cold. Undeniably, unmistakably

Maya did the same. Yes, I was cold, and yes, I wanted to be warm. But would Spurthi really just give her gloves like that? Wasn’t she cold, too?

To my surprise, she nodded confidently, ignoring the flakes of snow already littering her magenta glasses and wavy black hair. “I’m fine.”

“Thanks,” Maya and I echoed, cramming our fingers into the gloves and sighing with relief as we felt the warmth encompass our hands. The malicious cold air finally stopped biting at me, like a dog who had finally realized that there was no meat left on the bone and it was best left alone.

We walked with a newly discovered energy. Winter, and the snow itself, is actually beautiful, I realized as I surveyed the snowflakes swirling around in the air around me. Maybe the cold hurt, but it was beautiful in its own way, hidden to me before.

We walked. Maybe we chatted or played some games as well, but that remains out of my memories. What I do remember, in the midst of the coldness and the snow, was Spurthi’s abrupt gasp. Her hands flailing as she tried to balance herself, but she failed. She went falling, down, down,