This morning the weather seems confused as to whether it wants to rain or snow. It is alternating between the two in a slushy icy mix that is no fun for anyone. And so I have pulled out my first new pair of fluffy socks for the season. The fluffy socks I owned at the end of last winter had all lost most of their fluff so I bought several new pairs for this year. There is nothing quite as cosy as pulling on a brand new pair of fluffy socks on a nasty morning. So now that my feet are happy, it’s time to pour the coffee and settle the rest of me. Everyone ready for the first writing prompt of the week? Excellent. Len lets go for fifteen minutes.
That was oddly fitting with the morning I think. Or influenced by the morning anyway.
Monday, December 7th: This will be epic.
“This will be epic.” John said looking over his shoulder. He turned away and pulled his goggles down from the top of his head, fitting the see through mask over his eyes. Fresh snow still swirled and I doubted the wisdom of tackling the toughest slope on the mountain before it settled.
I voiced my fears earlier but was ignored. Last night’s storm dropped nearly a foot of fresh snow and now there was a break in the weather. Here that meant only a few flakes fell in a scattered pattern from the sky. It looked picture perfect, like a postcard. It tempted many of the skiers, including John, to the slopes.
I joined him hoping I could talk him into one of the other slopes. The Beast was a hard slope even in optimal conditions. It had taken several lives already and there was talk of closing the slope or at least imparting restrictions. The mutterings had grown louder lately and I was fairly certain that was what convinced John to try for it today. This was the last day of the trip and he was afraid that by the time he got a chance to return, the slope would be off limits and beyond his reach.
I glanced at the sky. It threatened a renewal of a brutal storm belying the delicate picture perfect flakes. But John was already in position and ready to push off. I took a deep breath, snugged my own goggles into place and moved to follow. He flashed me a grin and gave me a thumbs up. I nodded but knew my enthusiasm was lacking.
I knew the slope was dangerous, but it would be less dangerous if there were two of us, or so I hoped. Everyone who died, died tackling The Beast alone. If I couldn’t talk John out of it, I would at least go with him.
John didn’t notice my lack of enthusiasm and merely pressed the record button on the camera he had strapped to his helmet, readjusted his gloves and pushed off, beginning his downward descent. I moved into place, did a slow count to give him some space and then followed.
‘Next year I’m going to the beach,’ I thought as the icy wind tugged at the little skin I left exposed. I felt my cheeks go from rosy to numb in an instant. As I bent my knees and shifted my weight as needed, I thought longingly of hot sands next to the soothing ocean. Skiing had never been my favorite past time. While the rush of the slope was exhilarating, the thing I hated most in this world was being cold. Winter weather caused me to want to retread further into the comfort of my home and hibernate until spring thaw.
My parents disagreed. I spent much of my childhood on the slopes and as a consequence most of the people I knew were skiers. My life was filled with people who loved the slopes and any other option for vacations were quickly overruled. I made the best of it, but after every trip to the slopes I viewed my time in the lodge as my reward for enduring the cold. Leaving images of the coastal sands aside, I mentally thought of the warm spiced wine that would be awaiting me when we were through. I dodged the obstacles, barely seeing them, thinking only of the end game, the warm lodge that awaited me.
I could see John in front of me. Thoughts of the lodge dissipated as reality intruded on fantasy and I realized something was wrong. Very wrong.
Ten til Midnight 