Well, this is my story Snow of the Heart. It's the first time I've really written a story with a meaning, but even though it's quite the common lesson, I feel like it makes an interesting story. So, I hope you all enjoy my writings.
As a side note, I may or may not add on more. If I do, I know what will be in it, but I'm still not sure yet. We'll see.
Snow of the Heart
Where am I?
Roger Barnes trudged on through the snow. It was cold. Very cold. He breathed a puff of warmth into his gloved hands, rubbing them together. He flexed his fingers in an attempt to return their feeling, the fine, white cotton straining at each joint, before returning them within the pits beneath his arms, where it was warmest. Atop his head was a tall, black top hat, one that shone with a well-polished sheen. It was new and his favorite. He was wearing a thick overcoat, beyond which was his waistcoat, his treasured golden pocket watch within the breast pocket. When he’d first bought the overcoat he’d thought its thick fur would combat all winters. By the price, he’d been assured so. But in this place it was different. The Chill crept its way into the slight openings, spread throughout the fur. He shivered. Nothing helped. Even now it was swindling away the warmth from his hands and even his open mouth. It was slowly taking him.
There was no wind. He believed it to be God’s mercy, for he couldn’t imagine surviving a minute more if even the slightest gust kissed his cheek. In this icy wasteland there was no sound, save two. The first was the crunch of his boots on evenly laid snow. There was a constant fall of it, the white stuff. Without wind, it simply fell evenly. His footprints were the only scars upon the perfect surface that went on forever. He was the one thing that stood out, a black speck in a sea of white.
The second sound in this solemn land was one that was incessant. It was a ticking that unnerved him with each sounding. He grasped his chest, where his pocket watch rested. The frozen gold stung through the layers of clothing and into his flesh. Was it his pocket watch that ticked so loudly? He wasn't sure. It was so loud, louder than he remembered the watch ever ticking before. Instead it sounded and felt like something of this land, as if it belonged to it. It was almost like... its heartbeat.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
He could always hear it. It was quiet, yet loud, echoing through his body. It was as clear now as it had been when he’d first awoken there. When that was, he couldn’t remember. Hours? Days? Weeks? More? He could no longer tell. There was no time. Only the Chill. And it was stronger than before.
Where am I? Roger Barnes thought.
The question was ever present. The man stared up into the starless sky. Hanging above him was a cruel crescent moon, one much too large for reality. It brought an eerie light to the icy world, smiling down upon him, laughing at his misery.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
He trudged on.
Roger Barnes’ body felt heavy. His coat hung wetly, heavily, from his shoulders, making him slouch as he marched on. He was panting. He had kept his mouth clamped shut before so that the Chill couldn’t take him, but now he didn’t care. His fatigue was suffocating. He needed air. Frost coated his tongue, teeth, and palate. Snow rested on his shoulders and top hat, clung to the fur of his overcoat, pulled him down. He was knee deep in snow.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
Roger Barnes’ body finally gave way, and he fell. He tried to cry out, but his voice merely creaked and cracked as the snow swallowed him in its embrace of white. The Chill stole his breath away with a hoarse sigh and filled his lungs with snow. He gagged on it, coughing, but more slipped in, making his whole body shiver violently. An icy numbness spread throughout his body, working towards the ultimate goal of completely taking him.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
Roger Barnes was almost gone, the last shreds of warmth fleeing his body. He was really going to die. The thought scared him at first, left him in despair. He wasn’t going to be able to continue his promising life. He still had things to do, things to acquire, more land, wealth, power. But in death, this all didn’t matter. All his possessions would leave his ownership. Death would swoop in like a thief and steal away all that was his. It angered him. It shouldn’t happen this way. It was unfair. The polished top hat, the fur overcoat, and most precious of all, his golden pocket watch that was positioned above his slowing heart. These were the only precious things with him. And they were to be taken by the Chill.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
The Chill closed in.
A sudden burst of heat clasped Roger Barnes’ shoulder and heaved him from the snow. It slapped him in the back and warmth poured into him, melting away the snow that froze his lungs. He coughed frantically, excreting water and bits of ice. His body tingled as every inch of him was rejuvenated with a searing, yet sought after, heat. The feeling in his fingers and toes returned, and for the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable. His body still tingled, and his extremities itched from the sudden temperature change, but he still felt good, better than he had in a long, long time.
The source of the heat suddenly let go, and he was cold once again. He fell to his hands and knees, sucking in breath after breath. His teeth and tongue stung with frost, but he ignored it for the time being, happy to simply breath.
While bent over, panting, his top hat fell from his head, and began to sink into the snow. He saw it about to disappear beneath the surface and scrambled to catch it. The last moment, he snatched it back and shoved it onto his head of pale-orange hair. He’d come close to loosing all he possessed. He wasn’t going to let his precious objects out of his sight.
“Almost lost you there, eh?” came a voice. It was young.
Roger Barnes stumbled up, nearly falling over. He was still knee-deep, but the snow that had alighted atop him was gone for the time being. He turned to the one who'd spoken. In front of him was a boy, no more than thirteen in age. He had a wild mop of red hair and a wry grin. He wore nothing but a pair of cotton trousers and a shirt that may have been a bit too big. Clothes hardly worthy for a fall’s chill, he realized, let alone that of winter’s. Although his wardrobe was questionable, there was something else about him that was different, strange. But Roger Barnes couldn’t put his finger on it.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
The man croaked out a question. “W-who… are… you.” It was painful to speak, for he hadn’t done so in a long time.
The boy shrugged.
Roger Barnes didn’t find it amusing. He was a serious businessman, not a patient man. Of course the boy knew who he was. He was just being smart.
“Now you… see here,” the man said. “You must have… a name. Everyone has… a name.”
The boy furrowed his eyebrows, nodding in agreement.
And then he smiled.
And shrugged.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
Roger Barnes sighed, annoyed.
Feeling his voice coming back, he spoke more comfortably. “Fine, boy. For now you need no name, but at least tell me this. What is this place?”
The boy smiled at Roger Barnes and answered simply. “A land of change.”
The man squeezed his fingers, wishing to strike the boy; it was cold, and it made him irritable. Already whatever warmth had been given was fleeting. “Now don’t lie. Where are we? Who rules here, for I doubt such a place is ruled by the Queen?”
The boy seemed untroubled, shrugging off the stern tone. “It’s as I told you. This is a land of change, and as to who rules… You should already know that.”
Tick… Tick… Tick…
He was making fun of him, Roger Barnes realized. He cursed the boy and pushed him aside.
The boy fell to the ground, not making a sound. He just sat there, watching Roger Barnes as he walked away, a look of pity on his face. “So you’ll go on alone? How sad…”
Roger Barnes turned to make a retort, and that was when he finally realized what was odd about the boy. Not the obvious one of his chosen clothes, but that which had been left unnoticed. First, there wasn’t a single flake of snow that touched his body. Where it went, he couldn’t say, but he knew for sure it wouldn’t be found on the boy. Second, and most disturbing, was that for their entire conversation, the boy had been looking down at Roger Barnes from a higher height, and now that he was sitting, they were eye to eye. The thing was, when the boy sat on the snow, he literally sat on the snow, never sinking an inch, never leaving the faintest mark. Roger Barnes, however, was almost waist-deep. “How do you…?”
“How do I what?”
“You’re not sinking into the snow! How…?”
The boy laughed. “Well it’s easy when you don’t have anything weighing you down.” He nodded at Roger Barnes.
“And what does that mean?” The man pulled his coat closer, trying to get a bit warmer. It didn’t help. In fact, he almost felt colder.
“It’s exactly like I said. All those precious things you cling to so dearly only weigh you down. They hinder you. Just get rid of them and you can join me above the snow.”
Tick… Tick… Tick…
Roger Barnes scoffed at the boy. “That’s absurd! Why in the world would I leave them behind? What good could that possibly do?
“Unless…” He slapped his forehead as if he understood. “Of course! You’ll take them for yourself, you little scoundrel! But I’m too smart for that, much too smart. No, I can’t survive without my precious things. I need them. So leave me be!”
Roger Barnes trudged away, grumbling complaints to himself.
Crazy, that boy was. Give up my coat? Hat? Pocket Watch? Everything? Ha! It’s laughable. Death almost took them away, and I won’t let that happen again. I don’t need the boy. He needs me, my things. I will just leave him be. I am sure the Chill will take him… My God… Is the snow getting deeper?
“You want to know who rules?” the boy suddenly asked. He was sitting cross-legged on the snow. “You want to know who controls this land?”
Roger Barnes continued walking, struggling as more snow piled on his shoulders and head from above, pushing him down. He was too angry to accept information from this boy.
“The land calls its king Roger Barnes,” the boy said, pointing. “You are this lands ruler, its king…
“It’s heart,” he added, clenching his shirt at the chest.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
Roger Barnes froze, and not from the Chill. His words, no matter how unbelievable, struck a note within him, one that was discordant, disturbing. Because he knew it was true. He could feel it. His heartbeat pulsed in accordance with the heartbeat of the land, forming a duet.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
Bdump… Bdump… Bdump…
Tick… Tick…
Bdump… Bdump...
Tick…
Bdump…
The boy’s warm hand rested on his shoulder once again and pulled him free from the snow. The heat spread and breathed life back into his bones, melting the snow around him.
The boy whispered, “I hope you can conquer your burdens and sorrows Roger Barnes. Because if you can’t…”
The boy let go.
And then Roger Barnes was alone.
With the Chill.
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Canary word: Present
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125,029 Literary Works • 672,781 Reviews
Thanks for the reviews so far, and Blink, yours was especially helpful, so thank you.
Okay, First, about the ending. Maybe I will just end it here. I was considering it, and now that I think about it this would be a good place to leave it, let the reader wonder if he ever survives. Yah, in fact, I think I'll do that.
Next is the ticking thing. I think what I'll do is say that it seems to come from the pocket watch, but he finds it too loud to believe it. Because I was planning on having his treasured pocket watch be the last thing he would give up since it is his most precious possession, in essence, his current heart. I think I'll do something along those lines.
Okay, now the name of the Chill. Well, truth be told, I never gave much thought in naming it. It was just that when I started the story I wrote "the chill" and thought it worked well enough. I'm not sure if I'll use the chill or the frost or some other one. I'll have to think about it.
Well, time to fix these and the other problems, so off I go.
I really liked this this!
It was really unique and I really loved it. It was so dramatic and it really made me think about what was happening.
I'm not a very good critique so I wouldn't take my review to seriously! But even though that is true I will try to do the best I can to review you story!
This poem was really good in my opinion. It's full of mixed and interesting emotions. It was truly gripping and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
It almost felt as if I was the main character of your story and I absolutely love it when a poem or a story has that effect on me.
The first section was an excellent opener and you did do something that many other author find hard to do by saying little but saying a lot. You should definitely be proud of that!
I'm really not good at negative comments so you should think of this as your compliment review!
Overall, I really did like your story!
I can't wait to read more!
Keep writing
Meg x-x
Hello! Mind if I take a look...?
This is annoys me because Chill does not usually constitute a metaphor for frost, but just as something cold. It's your choice, but I think Frost sounds better, as it's more common and it's easier to personify if you want to, which, having read on, would work best. I think that both of them are, to be honest, a little weak for the idea of a snowstorm you're trying to create. But it's up to you.
I do love the soft descriptions going on here, but it's that repetition that's irritating me. Repetition is a blunt way of saying the you need to find another way to express your thoughts; the idea is very similar throughout all of them (cold stealing the warmth). So, instead of opening up your thesaurus, vary your ideas. Perhaps his hands clutched onto his breath, but then the heat was stolen. Maybe you could use a little imagery; what could you compare stealing warmth from? Thievery? Donating blood? Just an example.
Sorry for making a big deal out of it.
This isn't very convincing when we think about this:
Otherwise, you're just forcing to believe something. But the reader's always right. You have to disprove him. Maybe just say that it wasn't the pocket watch...?
Just after this, he falls into the snow. Now, I like the descriptions, once again, but I feel as if something if missing. The thing is that you're telling us that he's cold, but we don't feel as much because you don't actually talk about the pain. A line about the actual suffering and not what causes it every now and again might remind us of how numb and frozen he is. If that makes sense.
Repetition = bad here. "so long" doesn't really give us a length of time. How about "such a long time"?
Something unnoticed stood out? How does that work? I like what you mean, just not how you phrased it. So, yeah, do something with this.
= "cross-legged"
You've done the possessive thing somewhere else, too, so just remember that if you're saying it belongs to someone, then there's no apostrophe.
Well, mikedb. Well indeed. I thought that was fantastic. I loved the whole idea you had going along; sure, the theme has been done before, but at the end of the day, it's the twist you put on it that matters. You say that is going to be two parts; now, that interests me. Right here, I can see this as the end, leaving this hermit as a kind of strange and intriguing character who is left with a message. As long as you continue the theme in an interesting manner, I have no concerns. You might want to just change the ending if that's the case, otherwise we're left in a very final state where the reader (i.e. me) thinks it's over.
I did like this. The character is believable, the thoughts are well linked and I loved the descriptions. The ideas I gave you, however, I think would still be beneficial to you as it's not perfect. I can't think of much more to say. Oh, and PM me if you post the next part. I'd be interested to see where it goes.
Best
Blinky