The Perfect Evening. Short Story.

Todays short story is a little different, I don’t really know what genre to define it as, but it is not horror. Can you tell I am looking forward to/hoping we get snow?

I’m sick at the moment too, which is a giant pain, but hopefully I’ll be fine soon enough. it seems to be moving along quickly. Only had the sore throat part for a day, so while my nose is runny and I am sneezing lots, I am not in pain so that is something. (my eyes are also running and I feel like I’m underwater but that neither here nor there)

I’m going to Clare for the weekend to help move some stuff. I don’t mind saying Clare because it is a big enough place and I’m not saying something like I’m going to 12, Secluded House, Serial Killers Delight, Clare.

Just joking of course, Serial Killers Delight is far to exlcusive, I hear the waiting list is like twenty years long.

Anyway, on with the show!


The Perfect Evening.

She rested her forehead against the cold window and closed her eyes. She was tired, but she didn’t want to miss anything. She moved back, her forehead had lost most feeling to the invading cold which helped keep her awake. She stood and stretched, not bothering to stifle a yawn. It was too warm in here, that was the problem. She was dressed in her pyjamas and behind her a fire crackled merrily, shoots of flames rising and falling as they hungrily consumed the wood. Everyone else had gone to bed already, but she had stayed up. It was so silent now, so peaceful, all the lights were off, the only illumination was from the fire, but that didn’t impede her vision. She left the warmth of the room and  went to the hall, the drastic change of temperature made her shiver, she knew it would be worse outside, but it would be worth it. She eased the door open, not wanting to wake anyone and slipped outside into the darkness.

The snow was falling gently, creating a hush that seemed to envelope the world. Flakes of snow landed on her arms, like cool kisses from a frozen lover. She looked up at the sky, millions of white flakes were floating to earth, coating everything in a clean, crisp layer. She walked further into the garden, the snow crunching under her feet, the sound seeming so impossibly loud. She looked down the road, trying to see through the perfect, ever falling curtain, but she could see no one, she was alone, completely and utterly. She was getting cold, so cold, as the flakes turned to water on her skin, her hair gaining a crust of  snow, she shook her head quickly, creating her own miniature shower that was lost amongst the other, faster falling snow. She reached out her hand, catching a giant snowflake, she watched as her body heat melted it, turning it to water. She looked up at the sky again, blinking as the snow tried to land in her eyes, she opened her mouth, trying to catch a flake. After a few seconds, one hit her tongue, cold and refreshing, that strange taste that was not quite anything but it always reminded her of childhood. Everything had become shapeless mounds underneath the snow, strange humps and bumps in the landscape. It had been snowing for days, but this was the most impressive shower by far. Their tracks, made earlier while outside playing, had already vanished, light depressions in the snow which would soon be gone. Everything was so white, so clean, so pure and perfect. She bent and scooped up a handful of snow and, making a snowball, she threw it at one of the mounds. It hit with a light thump, it’s force creating a cascade of snow as it slid from the car, revealing the bright red underneath. She rubber her hands together quickly, her fingers red and frozen. Sighing, she turned back to the house, she couldn’t stay outside much longer, not if she wanted to stay well. The house felt so warm after the freezing cold outside. Her hands tingled as warmth started to return to them. She went into the sitting room again and sat by the fire, looking outside at the falling snow.

She wondered what they would do tomorrow, she had wanted to make a snowman, but Mike had intervened and instead, they had a snowball fight. Once they were done they were tired and cold and all thoughts of a snowman had gone. They would make one tomorrow, ten feet tall, reaching up towards the sky it had fallen from. Maybe they’d try to make a little igloo and fill it with snow furniture. They had made seats last year, gathering and carving the snow until it looked as they wanted. She wanted to get as much use out of it now, while it was still here, before the sun returned and its rays melted the snow, turning the white world back to its grey and drab appearance. She saw someone outside, walking past the house, their head down as they trudged onwards. She wondered where they were going, so late at night. She was warm again and getting sleepy. She’d been outside and seen the snow, hopefully it would be still falling in the morning. Standing, she threw one last look at the fire, wishing she could bring it’s warmth with her, before going upstairs to bed.

She opened her blinds and got beneath the duvet, it was cold, but soon it would warm. She watched the snow through half closed eyelids, trying to fight off sleep, but, it eventually won as it always did. She drifted off and dreamt of what would come tomorrow.

The bright glare woke her early, the sun shining off the snow, brightening the world. She got up slowly, looking out the window the entire time, as she dressed she looked at the car, trying to see any sign of red, it had been completely recovered.
She was the first up, which didn’t surprise her, her parents and brother probably closed the blinds when they went to sleep.
She made pancakes, while she waited for the others to get up, listening to the radio, turning it up slightly to be heard over the sizzling pan. The snow was to continue later in the afternoon. As she dropped bacon into the frying pan, she wondered what they would do today. The cars were snowed in so a drive around the area was out of the question. Maybe they could go for a walk and look at how the snow covered everything, hiding it’s true form. There was a hill not too far away, perhaps they could go sledding, or, they could start a snowball fight like the one last week, almost everyone joined in. Maybe they could build that igloo she wanted to make so badly, they could do it in the park, everyone was sure to help. They could all join in and when it was done, they could all take photos of it and admire their handiwork. Some people were beginning to tire of the snow, wishing it would stop, but not her, she wished it could continue to snow like this forever.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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