The latest entry in the Journey series is below.
Feedback always appreciated.
“Snow is when the bad things come,” Father says.
“Like monsters?” I ask.
“Like hypothermia, starvation, or death,” Father replies.
“Like desperation.” I say. My voice is flat. We have never known desperation. Not in the settlement, and not in our travels so far. I can feel it creep in, loitering like a scavenger. My lungs feel tight with frigid air. I rasp out breaths in tiny warm puffs. I want a thicker blanket. I want more food. I want socks and new boots and a dry place to sleep. The winter closes in on me, and now I understand what it means to feel “claustrophobic.”
I just wanted to see where the tracks went. Father made it about finding her, but maybe she didn’t want to be found.
We walk the snowy tunnel in deliberate silence.