Damaged.
In the centre: a crack in the earth, narrow and profound. Ice glistened on the surface – inviting, yet treacherous. He wondered where all the ducks had gone. Maybe hiding. Maybe stuck underneath.
He knelt down, forming a small, frozen ball. His rough hands were cracked; gloveless.
For a second, he stayed where he was, observing the world from a dog’s perspective. Boots, rushing wherever they pleased. Little kids, heavily kitted with winter gear. One smiled at him, and he returned the gift.
“Ollie!” a voice called.
He jumped up, patting some more snow on his slowly melting ball. His sister was waving at him; her stripy gloves matched the many colours of the people around them.
He stood across from her, motionless.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her smile dying. She walked over to him, dropping her snowball. She put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
He looked down at the snowball in his hands.
“I’ve forgotten how, Rebecca,” he said. He looked back up. Tears began to well in her eyes. She looked away, hiding it. Hiding her frustration.
Ollie shrugged. Big sister, always worried.
When she’d learnt he was going to the army, she’d thrown a fit. Her only family left. It was even worse when she found out about that one gun shot that had almost killed him. He was in hospital, unconscious, at the time. But, according to neighbours, her scream could be heard for miles.
Now, he tapped her on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, it’s not your fault,” she replied, abruptly turning back. She wiped her arm across her eyes, forcing a smile. “It’s like this.” She pushed the half melted snowball out of his hands, bending down to make him another. The old snow slopped to the ground. Quickly, she placed the new snowball in very centre of his palm. He instinctively closed his fingers around it.
“Good!” Rebecca smiled. “Now, throw.” She acted out an underarm throw.
He watched carefully. He had he been away from home, from fun, from life; for too long. Images of war-driven places - naked; sore - had invaded his mind, pushing out all the light-weight images of civilisation.
Now having a snowball fight was close to impossible.
He closed his eyes. He could do this. Hesitantly, he opened them again. They were met by his sister’s deep brown inquisitive stare. Slowly, he nodded. She nodded back, eyes heavy with encouragement.
He aimed and threw, letting go of the snowball at the last moment. It flew for a few seconds, before plonking down to gravity.
Images of steely grenades filled his mind.
“You did it!” Rebecca screeched, pulling him into a tight embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut. Willing away the explosions, the screams, that had found their way into his head.
There was only one way to get rid of them.
Ollie pulled himself out of his sister’s arms, forcing his shaking hands to do what needed to be done.
He gathered the snowball in his hands, making it big, bigger; huge. Above him, Rebecca smiled proudly.
He jumped up, lifting his arm, letting go. It landed right on her cheek. She flinched, laughed. Bent down to make a new one. It caught his arm.
For the first time in three years, he smiled with his eyes.
Childhood memories rushed back, kissed him - as a million little snowballs began to fly between them.
Spoiler
This was my prompt: Your story is about a soldier at the Panama Canal snow ball fighting.
