A Winter Love (Short Story)

By Ciéra Cree

We watched the snow as it fell, amonting upon the floor. It looked so perfect there; untainted and untouched by humanity.

I remember that you were standing next to me and that I wished you were standing closer. Occasionally our hands would brush against one another and I could tell that neither you or I really knew what to do. Did you want to move away? I didn’t want to.

In my mind the moment which marked winter was when I could see my breath linger in the air. It never ceased to be able to fascinate me every single time. During those brief moments that piece of me stood still, adrift and able to fly. I bet it would feel liberating to be in that position; in a place where gravity was defied.

Your coat was navy but now hung speckled in ice. Despite the fact that the cold was clearly taking its toll your eyes remained warm. You were wearing one glove with the other hand vacant, dipping into the residence of your pocket in intervals.

I walked to the sidelines of the crowd, missing your presence immediately. My hand felt numb as it exited its glove, fumbling among my bag for a pen. Once I found the pen I wrote what my heart wanted to say:

‘My dear beautiful stranger

I don’t know who you are

And you don’t know me either

But I saw you from afar

I noticed you seemed funny

And the smile upon your face

It made my heart become filled with warmth

That could not be erased

Our hands were nearly touching

And I didn’t know what to do

So I’m writing you this message

To get my feelings through

I think you could be special

But if we leave I’ll never know

So if you feel it too

Come to the bench among the snow’

After writing the note I read it through, blushing loudly. Before giving myself the chance to second guess I ran back over to the crowd, tapping his shoulder quickly and thrusting the note into his hand. I had never felt so simultaneously brave yet embarrassed before in my life.

The time where I sat half hiding behind the bench seemed to last an eternity. Was I being too forward? Too childish? Too everything?

It was beginning to get darker and I knew that I had to go soon which was pretty heartbreaking. I glanced over to the crowd longingly one more time, unable to see the recipient of my ramblings. My heart sank into the snow, becoming cold too.

I took my bag and prepared myself to walk down the path home that I knew all too well, alone as usual. Suddenly something clipped the hat on my head, startling me immensely. What kind of childish idiot was trying to start a snowball fight right now?

It was a glove. Maroon and rolled up into a ball. I picked it up, unrolling it and wondering why it nearly hit me. There was a note inside, reading:

‘To the girl who ran back to the bench

With the silly bobble hat

I’m by far not a poet

But here’s my number

Let’s have a chat x’

My heart thawed. Maybe this winter was going to be warm after all.

Image: Josh Hild on Unsplash

A Witch’s Midnight Whisper (Short Story)

By Nusrat Ahmed

On that day a massive, sinful wind was blowing outside. The universe seemed angry. A black crow started staring at me with his wicked sense of eyes; his immoral wings gave me a strange, foreshadowing feeling. I observed the forest as I tiptoed towards a small green hut, before suddenly seeing an old witch. She was making an emerald green potion for someone, with a mischievous, immoral expression on her visage.

The fictional witch started reciting her melancholy poem, sparking imagery in my mind. It was a cold, chilly October; Halloween was just on his way. Autumn leaves had just landed under the maple tree precisely a few days ago.

Tiny beige twigs hugged and pinched my toes. “Ah!” I complained in pain, putting my hands over my mouth. A faint voice echoed in my ears, “Shhhhh! The witch might hear!”. 

Her enchanted magic wand took my senses away. It was so pleasant to watch her from a distance; her hypothetical sweet scent cured my illness and parted unpleasant situations that were hovering throughout my head.

Upon my curing she was left exhausted, doomed with the maddening curse of being sinful yet simultaneously equipped with an aura of healing. Sometimes I think of her now still, and about the little hut in the forest. I wonder what she is doing and how it would feel for her if she were to also have the chance to experience the imagination taking you to another world.

Image: Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash