Short Stories of the Arctic

British Columbian Blizzard

     The sky in Yukon was as black as a dark morning coffee. The people who resided in said area were discombobulated from their sleep schedule, sore from the sleepless nights. One child was especially getting depressed. Tears ran down from his eyes whilst his parents were sleeping at dawn. He decided not to live this way. He grabbed a few clothes and decided to run south. His legs were giving out and his veins were pumping blood from his heart. His mouth was dry from the air as he was running. He finally made it to British Columbia and he could see the sun peeking out from the ground. His new life started in this province. He got his first job at a shoe shining hut and worked his way up from there. He even later owned the hut over the course of the next few years. Then, on a cozy Sunday afternoon, "CRASH!" A large hot burst of light jolted into the hut! "Whoosh!" 'Twas set ablaze! The fire was as hot as Icarus' journey! "Bash!" The man bursts out of the wooden door with an armful of the only money he could salvage. At that moment, he made a bold move. His arms swung open and the money was blown into the fire. He walked away, not a tear in the eye for he knew what was next. He didn't walk to town, instead he walked into the woods where he would live for the remaining series of his lifetime. All he could find in the woods was an axe (of which he later stole), a box of matches, and a pile of logs. It seemed as if a lumberjack was here before he. He walked to a fairly broad area, about a quarter mile away from where he originated. He could hardly sleep, so in effect he was extremely tired in the morning. "WHOOSH!" An exceedingly large blizzard was making it's way towards the man! It was coming tremendously fast as well. He tried to run as fast as he could bare, but he was simply outmatched. The blizzard ate him up like he was a mere crumb. A day later, the blizzard calmed down. All that remained of the incident was the axe that seemed to have been flown into a nearby tree and the man laying there, dead. The matches were scattered across the forest, gone. Nobody searched for the man, for he was a fairly unknown figure. This means he was forgotten. Forgotten in history.