My Cold Assault

• Sophia Stewart, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2022

It is cold out here in this world beyond childhood. So I wrap myself in jackets upon jumpers. I don’t like being cold. The layers upon my skin block the wind that carries anxiety from the world. Within my layers I am safe. I look up at the two girls, Lyla and Scarlet, staring at themselves. Their glossy blonde hair runs miles down their backs covering the skin left open to the cold wind that their thin silk dresses fail to protect.
I am welcomed at the open door with a punch in my chest. I am attacked by the roaring music blasting on the speakers so intense I can feel the vibrations running up my weak bones and my ears shrieking. The house piles hundreds of strangers roaring, jumping, hooting, blending, and dancing, into the thunderous chaos of freedom. My heart is pounding under my jacket, dying to get out and join the excitement. I’m excited but afraid. My stiff body stations itself by the door, contemplating a run and as I stare out at the street and the floods of strangers fighting to squeeze in, I am aware of my first display of foolishness.
“Come on!”, Lyla screams, drowning under the tide of jumping bodies.
“Wait, let me just-”, I turn around with the night sky painted in my eyes for the last time before Scarlet laughs and loops her bare arm through mine as we barge into the glorious anarchy.

I jump with thrilling echoes, bouncing off the walls until I blend into the crowds of strangers daring to be reborn. I feel warm under my jacket. I want to turn around and run back to my cave and hide protected by layers of blankets so I can never be cold, captivated by my books. But I also want to defy the cold and live without the fear of the frosty night. Walking over to the bin in the corner of the room. I watch as my hand places my jacket into the bin, exposing my bare arms to the chills of the wind. I turn away from my jacket to a red cup held in front of my face.
“Do you want a drink?”, says a skinny boy.

His piercing green eyes shine through his black fringe daring me to take the cup. I see everyone edging me on. I take it from his skinny fingers flushing the chilling liquid down my throat. My bubbling boiled blood turns to an icy crisp coldness under my bare skin. I feel dizzy. I feel nauseous. I feel scared. I feel cold. I sprint to the bin in the corner but my legs and my head aren’t communicating as my body thuds into a cold wall. My shaking hands hold onto the bin for dear life rummaging through the unwanted for my protection, my jacket. It’s gone. And I am cold. Freezing. I was once told it was cold out here in this world beyond childhood. And I should have listened.