I looked at my frozen phone, “No chance of snow my ass!” Then I heaved that sucker hard as I could, sending it through the trees to be lost forever in the fucking ocean of snow that was everywhere. “And they call you a smartphone!”
If the damn thing had been useful, I could have tried to connect to the network, and get a map of where I was, and guidance on how to get back. But, no. Thing had been frozen solid. Screen had cracked. Covered in frost. Memory card fell right out of it. Even if the thing could have powered on, with the damage to the screen, it would have been useless. Wasn’t insured either.
“Son of a bitch!” I stomped my boot covered feet on the ground, compacting the snow I was standing on. Of course, since that snow was on big damn rocks, after a couple of stamps, it turned slicker than wet glass, and down I went, face first into the snow.
It was one of those moments where I tried to scream, but had forgotten how my voice worked, so when I did scream, no sound came out. And I thought, “You want a piece of me! You want a fucking piece of me!” and made a snow angel. Flapped my arms and legs while I was face down on the rocks. “I’ll show you! Take that, you… You…” And I screamed without sound again, scooped up snow in my ice cold hands, packed it into snowballs, and threw that at the trees.
All I knew was it was umpteen miles to my car. Umpteen miles on a path I couldn’t see anymore, because of the snow that was everywhere.
“Why don’t you go to the little cabin in the woods, hon?” That’s what she’d asked. “I know you need to get away. Relax. Escape work, and everything. It’s OK. I won’t mind. So, why don’t you go?”
“It’s fucking January, that’s why!” I had these visions of me being trapped in a tiny 10 by 10 room, with no fireplace, a rinky-dink kerosene powered heater, a mini flashlight that fit on my key-chain, and no extra batteries for it. With the whole thing under 85 feet of show, unable to leave. “I’ll get snowed in, and freeze to death!”
“No, dear. You won’t. See?” She’d brought up the weather map. It had been perfect. 0% chance of snow. Temp in the high 20s at night, and in the low 50s during the day. “I think the trip would be perfect for you.”
I had to admit she was right. I knew getting away from everything for a weekend would be perfect. No phone calls. No TV. No fucking news. My god, the news. Almost wanted to take a couple of Lorazepam just to watch that. And wash them down with half a bottle of Jack Black. “Fucking news.”
Work had gone to hell. They’d laid off a third of everybody. Everyone I had eaten lunch with was gone. I’d tried to cheer them up. “It could have been me, you know. Just the luck of the draw.”
They all came back and said, “No. They won’t ever lay you off. You know that.”
It sucked, to see so many people go. And to have to work extra every day, to make up the slack, and meet the deadlines.
And the news. God, the news. I just knew that fucking idiot they’d elected President was gonna get us all blown to hell, nothing left but glowing, radioactive embers for 10,000 years.
So, she talked me into it. I’d got home Friday afternoon, threw my bag in my car, drove the to parking lot, and hiked to the cabin. At least, we called it the cabin. It had been a beautiful hike. Quiet. I could hear the water from the stream that went past the cabin, all night. No birds, though. It was winter. They’d flown south.
Not one snowflake when I went to sleep.
I woke up nine hours later, and found inches of frozen, fluffy, white water piled everywhere. Tree limbs were down. The path was blocked by them, and by limbs that hung all the way to the ground.
“Hell.” There wasn’t much I could do. Except go back to the cabin, and hope it warmed up enough the snow melted before I ran out of potato chips and beer. I hadn’t exactly packed for being trapped.
“Fucking snow!”
I wondered, “If I can find my way to the car, will I even be able to move it?”
It was going to be a long day.
770 Words
@mysoulstears
Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 37th week. You can read about her small fiction challenge here. As usual, when I started writing, I had no idea what would happen next. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.
My Soul's Tears 
Great piece. I love the way this guys talks, can hear him in my head. Thanks for joining.