A Winter's Tale: Just About's seasonal flash fiction contest!

It was one of the coldest winters in the village of White Mountain, but the bad weather didn't faze Simon, a free-spirited and restless young man who loved adventure, and had just heard rumors about a hidden place in the mountains to the north, a magical and legendary place called the Forest of Frozen Crystals, where all the nature that belonged to it was made of the purest ice, and at its center there was a crystal artifact that shone and reflected lights like the colors of the rainbow, and could grant a wish to whoever found it.

Simon spent those long winter nights thinking about how he could save his village from the famine caused by this devastating weather, until curiosity and hope made him set off one Sunday morning, before the sun's rays illuminated the village, with only his fur clothes and a map as old as his people.

Every step was an effort due to the vast layer of snow, but nothing, not even the frightening creatures of winter, could affect the determination of this young dreamer.

It had been days and weeks of walking through a hostile environment, but suddenly the scenery began to change. The darkness and the overwhelming snow gave way to a nature full of sparkling crystals, igniting that flame of hope in Simon's heart. He knew he was very close.

But this was a magical place and the atmosphere there was different, the trees seemed to change position with every step, as a way of disorientating anyone who dared to cross the forest.

In the center of the place, Simon came across a sparkling cave, with columns and walls that reflected and illuminated like mirrors. And then from inside the cave emerged a huge and frightening creature, an ice guardian, who looked like a warrior made of snow and crystal. With eyes like hurricanes, he stared at the young man and asked in a shuddering voice why that little human dared to wake him from his slumber and invade his domain.

Simon gathered his courage and determination and explained to the Guardian the reason for his journey.The Keeper was touched by the young man's story and then offered him a challenge, saying, “If your story is true and your motivations are that pure, climb that altar I'm pointing to and go get the artifact you so desperately need.”

Simon followed as the Guardian watched him. When he touched the artifact, an icy object that looked like a human heart, he could then make his wish come true. But first he felt a slight tremor under his feet and the Guardian said, “You really are wise and your motives are correct, young man. You have just been tested by the heart, and if you failed, your life would end now. Ask the heart for what you need, but remember that changing the world comes with responsibilities.”

Simon then touched that beating, glowing heart and silently made the request that motivated him on his long journey.

He then took the road back to his village, and when he arrived he found the place transformed. Magic now helped the land, the cold didn't stop the trees from bearing fruit and the animals from reproducing, there was enough food for everyone. Simon was welcomed as a winter hero and White Mountain never suffered from bad weather again. On the coldest nights, it was still possible to see far away the splendorous glow of the forest's crystals, which called the bravest to face it.

The night was extremely pale that christmas eve, because of the snow and the cold, and the cold was almost from another world. The Hutter father hadn’t arrived at home yet, and long hours had passed since he left. He only said that it would be a moment that he would go to the town to get some food and supplies before the Christmas celebration. 

Hutter was used to be alone at home since his mother has died 5 years ago by the severe winter and lack of food, the life at their farm was arduous but for some reason they weren’t welcomed in the town, just to buy some supplies and food and sometimes his father come back wounded, always looking like he lost a fighter, its brake Hutter heart every time he see his father at that condition. But his father always arrived at home with a big smile and a bag of food in his hand, sometimes a big bag but most of the time a little one that he shared with Hutter and his wife before her death. And this evening wouldn’t have to be different, his father would soon arrive with more food for the merry night! 

After some time close to the fireplace Hutter decide to look through the window to see if he sees any sign of his father, but the only thing he seems is a point of light that is always there, this point is nonetheless the town up distant in the horizon, this time the light coming from there was a little week this time, what caused strangeness to him since in this period of the year there are more torches lighten up because of the dark nights and the cold.

But this moment that Hutter was looking at the window a strong and single wind pass through all the snow field and all the torches at sight, closes ones and distant as all seems to fade out for a moment and come back stronger, but Hutter start to feel super sleepy and before he drop on the ground he sees a little silhouette on the road that leads to their farm, the shadow looks like an human with strange proportions, looking fast even looks like a goat… “Krampus, it can’t be, I’m a good kid, never disobeyed my parents, always hel…”. Before he could finish his thoughts he fell asleep.    

The other day he woke up with his father offering him food, Hutter's father looked deplorable, he never saw his father that injured… “Father, are you ok?”, ask the kid with a frightful expression on his face. “I’m ok my son, I only felt on my way back home, but don’t worry, now we have a dinner and a breakfast to eat, sorry to the longing”, replies his father, with another smile in his face, the biggest one yet. That morning their had the best banquet of their life , Hutter couldn't stop to think how pleased he would be to have his mother with them that morning.

After that night his father always returned to home with a lot more food, and nevermore had a scratch on his skin, it was almost a gift that he received, but one think he could notice, the town light each year start to vanishes even more until one day it ceased to exist, after that his father was gone as well, almost christmas eve, and now, with 23 years old,  he had to live by it self and the first thing it have to do was to buy everything to make the honour of his father, buying flowers, candles and a good suit for his father funeral. The only place he knew was the town close, but there was a doubt, was there anyone in the town yet? 

After hours of walking he finally reach the town, it was almost in ruins, take by the vegetation already, he enters the town, but what he seems isn’t so pleased, besides the town ruining, there were bodies and skeletons all around, it could be just a warning but he need to see if there was anybody there, along the way he grabs just a suit, that was in a empty house and in the town square he seems an old man with a mantle a blanket all around him, and when he approaches the old man start shouting “GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT!! … KRAMPUS WILL BE HERE, THAT CURSED DEVIL, WILL KILL EACH ONE OF US!!! … WE SHOULDN’T HAVE EXPELLED HIM FROM THIS TOWN! WE SHOULDN’T… We shouldn’t… We shouldn’t… “  With fear, Hutter runs outside of this town… what happened to that town? Hutter couldn't answer the only one that could answer was his father, but now he is long gone, and he won’t have a proper funeral like his mother had.

Arriving at his farm he finally understood why his father never told about the decline of the town, about why they had to live in that farm starving and with cold, and why his father was always wounded… In the bed where his father's body was now had a dead half goat and half human being. Krampus was his father… 

Here's a Christmas cliché. I told this story to my niece and she loved it. To remind everyone of the love and hope that must be reborn in us. Not just at this time of year, but every day.

Christmas miracles

It was December, and the village where Anne lived was full of lights flashing around the town, reflected in the white blanket formed by the freshly fallen snow, plus the sound of bells and Christmas music echoing around the square. It was a festive atmosphere and the town was bustling with preparations for the big celebration.

But the house where Anne lived seemed to be quieter than the rest of the village, ever since her father fell ill and could no longer work as a carpenter. Money was tight and Christmas would be simple, with no big suppers or presents. But even so, Anne, an 11-year-old girl, carried joy and hope in her heart, knowing that Christmas was about much more than material goods, but about love and miracles.

On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Anne was walking through the village, illuminated by a shy sun, when she met a little street dog, who played with her and shared his snack with her. At that moment, Anne came across an old man sitting on a bench in the square, with a long white beard and a serene expression on his face. She said “Hello”, shyly, and with a calm look and a warm smile, the man replied “Hello, little one. Why are you alone on Christmas Eve?” Anne then approached the man and told him about her father's state of health and how their house seemed sad while the whole village seemed full of joy.

The man listened attentively and, when she had finished, he said, “Trust in the spirit of Christmas, little one. Often the greatest joys come from the smallest gestures. Like I just saw you sharing your bread with that little dog. That's what Christmas is all about.”

The man stood up, wished her a Merry Christmas and disappeared into the snow, as if he had never been there.

That evening, while Anne and her mother were putting wood on the fire and preparing for the modest supper, they heard a knock on the door. When they opened the door, they found a small bag left in front of the house, and inside it were fluffy rolls, fresh fruit, a bottle of wine and something that looked like a present.

When she opened the package and untied the delicate red bow that covered it, Anne found a beautiful doll that she had seen on the street, but money was tight. Next to the present, there was a message written “To the little one and her family, may they never lose faith.”

Tears and smiles broke out on the faces of Anne's mother and father that night.

The next morning, everyone in the village was talking about the little miracles that had taken place during the night. The families who needed it most were given food and toys, but no one knew who was responsible. Many talked about a man with a white beard who walked through the snow but disappeared without a trace.

Anne never met that man again in the village, but that doll took up a special place in her home and in her heart. For her and for everyone, it was a reminder that Christmas is not about what we have, but about what we give.

And every year, when the snow fell on that village, that girl smiled and remembered that small miracles continued to happen for those who believed.

So, I wrote something but it's only touching snow at the very end, it's bloody and it's too long. I wrote something about Christmas' Eve but let's say Just About is not the place to share it. I wrote something about skiing and something about relathionships but no. I wrote something sci-fi with snow but it was too short... or maybe not?

Soundtrack: 2 8 1 4 - Rain Temple

Snow flitted down from the steel grey sky high above.

It reflected the lights and neons of the sprawl. The same lights that painted the clouds above.

It bounced between steel, glass and plastic as it went down, slipping in between the tall skyscrapers.

It floated on the warm updrafts that moved up from the lower levels, from the exhausts and the air exchange vents.

It slowly sat down on the stained concrete and the dark asphalt, on the plexiglass and composites of vehicles, on the stands selling this or that, on the tarps hang between narrow alleys, on the cardboards of the despondent.

It sat in silence, slowly darkening at the contact with the stains of the world, slowly melting as it absorbed the warmth of civilization.

People walked hurriedly in the streets, hiding under jackets and umbrellas, the snow an inconvenience at worst, just a weather event at best.

Gone was the fascination of it.

Gone were the days when snow was seen as a beautiful moment, shrouding the world in cold fluff.

Gone were the days when children played with it.

Gone were the days when snow meant a hot brew and a cozy book.

Snow was now something negligible in the greater movement of civilization. Barely acknowledged, barely accounted for.

Inconsequential.

And yet, she looked up at the sky, her dark eyes tracking the small crystals as they fell toward her. She stood there, in an empty park. Not a real park, more like a recreation of what used to be a park, nested in between buildings, decaying in silence.

Nobody was around, nobody had the time to dwell and stand in the cold and wet, didn’t they? But she did, she didn’t have to rush to work, she didn’t have to rush anywhere in fact. Did that make her free? Not really.

But the snow didn’t really care about civilization’s problems, qualms and beliefs. It just fell when the humidity, temperature and winds were right. It was a purely mechanical process, no emotions, no expectations.

She kept looking up, in some way mesmerized by these little ice crystals flitting down the sky. So small, so beautiful in their own unique way. A beauty long lost to utilitarianism and economic interests in a civilization that sought money above everything else.

A small snow crystal sat down on the palm of her hand, it lasted a breath, just the time to take stock of it, that it melted. Her hands felt increasingly cold and yet, they were still warm enough to melt the snow, to turn it into a water drop.

Her breath puffed in the air as she exhaled.

The moment felt peaceful.

The sprawl, with all its noises and crowds, sounded far away. Not even there.

She inhaled the cold air.

Even the scents of the sprawl felt dulled, cleaner.

The snow still had the powers of old, they had just been forgotten by men in their pursuits for more.

She sighed, her head falling down, looking back down at the dirtying snow and the cracked concrete peeking through. For all the power the snow could still have, it wouldn’t really save her. That was the hard, inescapable truth.

She shrugged, and turned, heading out of the park, back to sprawl. Back to its crowds and its scents. Back to its dirt. Back to a life she couldn’t escape. Back to the rough reality.

A gust of wind made the falling snow twirl, some of those flakes following in her wake. It was as if the spirit of snow, if something like that could exist, sighed watching her leave, with her head down, beaten and hopeless. By itself, snow couldn’t do much but inspire.

Snow kept flitting down from the sky.

It rested over the uncaring sprawl, covering it all in a cold, dirtying blanket.

The snow began to fall. Large, fluffy flakes fell in a spiral, illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlamps. They landed softly on the earth in the yard and also on the asphalt in the street... “Winter has its magic, doesn't it?” - Sofia said, alone in her room on the second floor of a humble house, as she noticed how the snow was gradually covering the busy December week and turning the street into an expanse of dreams. Sofia then tightened her scarf to prepare for the cold that was already approaching, excited for the time she had been looking forward to all year - she loved those moments when the world was reduced to a whisper, as if inviting her to listen more carefully!

Before long, the snow took over everything it could touch. The old market square, normally vibrant with the noise of people and the many lights that illuminated the whole site, had been taken over by snow. The stalls with colorful striped awnings were now empty, their surfaces dusted with white. A lone violinist remained playing, sheltered by a small canopy at the side of the market. The music drifted across the square, it was beautiful..., its presence and its art heralded the winter that Sofia loved so much, and even in this great cold, her heart warmed. Sofia paused on her daily walk to drop a coin into the musician's hat, receiving a slight nod of gratitude and a gentle change in melody. She then continued her walk, as the notes of the violin followed her like a ghost in her direction, fading away and clinging to the quiet night.

Sofia always liked walking through the city, she said that even if she walked the same route, she never saw the same landscape, let alone had the same experience as before. She loved that. The novelty. The surprise. The unknown. She continued her walk, arriving at a dark, serene river, which mirrored the lights of the nearby buildings and houses. On its surface, fragments of ice swayed lazily in the stillness of the night. Her slow journey downstream was a reminder of the passage of time and a reflection on everything she had lived through and still had to live through... Sofia then stopped unexpectedly after noticing a reflection in the snow she was passing. It was a mirror. Probably knocked over by someone who had passed by earlier. The mirror had beautiful details on its edges, it was certainly an old and very beautiful item - “Has it been here for a long time? I don't think so... The snow would have buried it if that were the case” - Sofia thought, looking at the mirror and noticing that it reflected her white skin and also the moonlight, making it seem, in the beauty that was that moment, as if the mirror were a magical item!

The magic of that moment awoke a vivid and bittersweet memory in the smiling girl who stared into the mirror with a wistful look on her face. It was a Christmas several years ago, when her family's living room was filled with laughter and freshly baked cookies and snacks. Sofia was 6 years old and playing happily near the red decorated tree, probably 5 times her size. That day, among the presents she received was a mirror. It was pink, not very big because it wouldn't fit in her small hands, but it was very beautiful. Sofia had wanted this mirror for a long time. Children always come up with strange wishes and desires for adults, but their creative minds made that present better than any she had ever received.

Sofia amused herself with her mirror, thinking of the various kingdoms in which she was the most beautiful and powerful princess, capable of defeating any enemy and commanding an entire nation. Sofia certainly didn't think small. Unfortunately, that same day, during one of her games, Sofia ended up falling over the mirror, breaking it and injuring the arm that was holding it. She cried immediately, along with the fear of a fight for having broken a present she had just won. Her father promptly picked it up as soon as he understood what had happened. This is a strong memory for Sofia. He wasn't angry, let alone fighting with the little 6-year-old girl, but caressing her and trying to calm her down with kisses and hugs and a soft, gentle voice that warmed her cheeks. Sofia loved that moment. How could the broken mirror of her dreams make her so happy? Before long, it was as if nothing had happened. The feeling was so strong at that moment, a feeling of security, but above all of love, that all the previous despair quickly faded away. Sofia cried, but this time of happiness, a gentle cry, with smiles accompanying the tears. She knew that her present was there beside her every day. A present that didn't need to be opened every Christmas or birthday. A gift for life...

Now, years later, that feeling had almost disappeared. Her parents' voices had become echoes, they were distant, momentarily recovered for an instant as quick as the burning of a match, but which never lasts long. She held the mirror tightly in her gloved hands, as if to protect something she was afraid of losing again, perhaps a way of bringing it closer.

Sofia shed tears. They were few, and she soon recovered as if she didn't want to show weakness. She wanted to be strong, just as she had always played since she was a child. The mirror renewed her soul, brought back memories that had become forgotten. Sofia ran back the way she had come, hugged the violinist who was still playing his music and headed home. She ran upstairs to her room on the second floor of the house where she lived. She turned on her computer and bought the first tickets she saw to Boston. That's where she had lived her entire childhood, where the memory she had recovered today had been lived - “I'm not spending another Christmas alone, that was the last time! I'm going, I promise...” - Sofia almost shouted, as if she wanted her parents to hear her. But they did. They have never stopped listening and supporting everything their daughter does. She's just not able to perceive all this love that touch can't reach...