I had a list of ideas for December flash fiction, but it turns out nothing is working out quite the way I planned it.
For example, this week I wanted to write a story about jealous icicles. The actual story has nothing to do with jealousy. In fact, the only thing that stuck was icicle, and the icicle in this story isn’t even the main character!
Or is it?
Check it out:
The Magic of Windstorm Resort
Jill N Davies
An icicle is a magical thing. It’s made from water, just the same as the snow and ice, but it hangs, keeping vigil of the world around it. It collects molecules from windblown snow as the moisture drips down the roof to the ledges when the sun’s radiation breaks the molecules from their solid state. This was how Pierce came to be every year. He hung above the back entrance of the Windstorm Resort where the quiet beauty and snowy majesty worked to make magic.
The resort provided every manner of outdoor winter activity. When the day was done you could sit on the porch, snugged up in a puffy winter jacket warming your feet at the bon-fire and sipping hot chocolate or a mulled wine while the smells of smoke and spices mixed with the sharpness of pine.
Pierce thought of all of it as magic but knew that sometimes could be more magical than others, like the winter of ’06—the winter of the snowman.
“Matthew James, get back here right this instant!” a bearded man in a fitted ski-suit scolded as a small child burst through the heavy wooden door. Pierce looked down to watch the scene unfold.
“Come on Dad, I want to build a snowman!” the little boy moaned.
“How many times have I told you not to go outside on your own?” the dad snapped.
Matthew rolled his eyes. “But you’re taking FOREVER!”
“I’m trying to finalize your ski lessons,” the dad said.
Matthew kicked at the frozen snow that caked the side of the resort. “I dowanna ski. I want to build a snowman.”
“You’ll thank me when you’re older—when all your friends want to ski and you don’t get left behind at the top of the kiddie-hill,” the dad said.
Pierce could see both sides of the argument. Matthew was young. He couldn’t picture a future where the sacrifice of a dozen snowmen paid off. But the Dad was grown. He could only see the future and had forgotten the pure joy of losing himself in the games of youth. It was a classic impasse.
“Come on, you can build a snowman anytime. I brought you here to learn to ski,” the dad said with finality. Matthew’s face dropped. His head hung so that dark hair flopped across his forehead as he followed his dad back into the resort.
Pierce didn’t see the boy again that day. He busied himself doing the sorts of things that icicles do—melting a little in the heat of the midday sun, then freezing again as the evening ushers in the cold. Pierce grew, each molecule of water bringing a piece of the mountain with it.
Two more days passed. Pierce only managed a passing glance at the little boy. His head always hung low as he trudged across the deck. When he did look up, it was longingly across the resort of the Wonderland Play Area where children collected to play, building ice castles and ducking away from flying snowballs. There were always a few snowmen being erected, but Matthew wasn’t allowed to be a part of their construction.
Pierce noted that Matthew’s skiing was improving. He spotted the messy hair peaking out of the bright orange snow cap as the boy zoomed down the hill—first the bunny slope, then the meandering path of the Easy-skiing Green Cruiser path. Pierce knew that Matthew’s father was right—that he would appreciate these lessons, maybe even as soon as next winter, but he wished there was something he could do for the boy… something to give him what he wanted right now.
“Do I have to?” Matthew whined as he trudged after his dad, fastening a thick padded glove on his hand.
“One more lesson,” his dad said.
“But we’re going home tomorrow!” the boy blurted.
“After the lesson, okay?”
Matthew’s face brightened and he hurried off to the mountain. The smile warmed Pierce’s core.
But after never came. The midmorning brought dark, snow-filled clouds from the valley. By noon the snow was coming down with such ferocity that the lift chairs shut down. Everyone rushed for shelter leaving Pierce to shudder in the cold wind, contemplating Matthew’s lost snowman.
The storm blew through and, by late evening the sky was clear enough for the full-moon to reflect on the mounds of fresh powder. A few vacationers were brave enough to venture onto the patio and sit by the fire and sip hot beverages, their voices muffled by the fresh powder.
Matthew’s dad ventured out onto the patio just before midnight. Pierce could tell he was on the phone, even though the hood obscured his view.
“Yeah, alright. Our flight gets in at eleven,” he was saying.
Pierce listened, wishing things had been different for him and the boy.
As the dad continued, another figure appeared on the porch. Matthew had followed him out. Pierce watched the little boy take in the mountains of fresh snow before his eyes settled on the Wonderland Play Area.
The dad finished his phone call. He put the phone in his pocket and turned to head back in, stopping when he saw his boy.
“Hey Bud, I’m sorry things didn’t work out today,” he said, putting a hand on Matthew’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Matthew agreed.
Something in the dad’s face shifted, as if he were seeing the vacation through Matthew’s eyes for the first time.
In that moment, as if melted from the warmth of a father’s love, Pierce’s core cracked open. He fell from the ledge and landed with a soft thud in the unpacked snow. Matthew’s eyes settled on him. His dad reached down and picked the icicle up. He held it up to his nose, prompting the boy to giggle.
“Hey,” he asked, “do you want to build a snowman?”
Matthew’s eyes twinkled with the reflection of the moon off crystalline ice.
The End
Don’t feel like reading? I’ll read it to you on IGTV!
Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:
Hungry for more?
I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today
If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com
Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.
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