Never Cold

• Ryan Hariman, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2015

From the cobblestone path, I stepped onto the snow, which was as cold as a killer's heart. I was snuggled up in five layers of clothing yet I still shivered, struggling against the relentless but not unforgiving force we had named nature. I crept on, knowing I had to get back home quickly. One foot. Stop. Other foot. Stop. Repeat. I kept believing in this pattern, and slowly but steadily, I was at a pace.
I felt the winter trying to make me give up, icicles of my own imagination and struggle attempting without cease poking and piercing at my heart. Yet still, I walked on, oblivious to the beauty around me; trees like arms worshipping the sky, and the sky itself, as white and cloudy as milk. Snow rested lazily on the trees as if they were birds in spring, the quantities of them doing their 'business' and disturbing people below. Then, relief flooded throughout me, thawing my imagination. My beloved hut was directly in front of me. Beckoning. Taunting.
As agonising as it was, I quickened my painfully slow pace to a jog. As if my feet were percussion instruments, the snowflakes and stiff trees around me appeared to dance. Then, I halted to a stop as I realised the entrance to my hut was in my face: a small, old wooden door. I turned the rusted brass handle and entered, the fireplace warming my mind, body, and heart. And now, I knew this one thing.
It's never cold when you're with something you love.