Dry Winter

A Heart of Steal

Behind the dark clouds of twilight lay stars scattered across the universe ever so elegantly as I found myself staring upon them with the typical notion of waiting for my Uncle Forte, once again waiting for his dark-colored jeep to finally putter itself up the small driveway. A cold feeling shivered up my spine, the chilling air finally getting to me as the winds gushed softly, my hair blew around wild, and for once in a long while, time had started again.

 Despite all this, everything felt slower, and the only sign of life was the motion of the birds opposite the glass as I slide my hands out of my pockets and began to think of how they still kept things going despite the shivering cold and I could just look at them in wonder from inside the heated walls of my home thinking of only what will tomorrow's day bring. 

Tapping my fingernail on the windowsill in a rhythmical tone I sat in my seat praying that only good things will come of today nothing more, nothing less. For a while I had just been sitting there deep in my thoughts for some time, it was the only thing I had to do at this point. My uncle decided it was safer inside the walls of his comforting home.  I could only look out from my window, I could only stare longingly from a place in my uncle's yard.   

The trees I was used to seeing did have some form of green on them, it was normally coated in several layers by the heavy signs of winter, which was constantly pouring down on the land of Chester-Wood. I loved staring at them so even now I was currently watching their needles drift to the snow-covered dirt leaving only moss for the small animals that reside in their holes, watching us with hawk eyes from a distance, hidden in a place among the forest's boarders and its cold, white winter. 

Through the thick plot of trees and frosted grass was a black-tinted set of ice pieces covering the long, bumpy road. This town was so unwell kept that there was a forest between each house, the roads full of massive holes and cracks as its asphalt and concrete barely kept a single car on its tires. I felt the ground shake and rumble as my uncle Forte began to drive his small, old car up the long driveway as its wheels shifted the snow to imperfection, reminding me my uncle wanted me to shovel the driveway before food was done. This was when panic settled in. 

I eyed the yard figuring out how I was going to go about shoveling it neatly, trying to plan and execute it all before dinner was finished thankfully, he hadn't started it, and unfortunately just now his key's started to jiggle around unlocking the front door as it creaked in its wake, silence soon filled the halls as he's footfall rang through.  

I could hear birds chirping themselves goodnight, I could hear crickets in the distance and the drops from a leaky sink down in the kitchen turned to running water, the screech of the cabinets, the creeks of the shelves, and the realization had finally hit me, he was making dinner. 

The timer had begun to tick, and my heart raced as I needed to get this all done before he finished so I soon found myself pacing around trying to find my bullet journal and begin to quickly and neatly write down tomorrow's goals which included pruning up the yard if there's another snowfall during the night. 

I re-read my notes which reminded me of several things I had to get done during the week, I jotted down some things before I grabbed cloves and whispered to myself in prayer that nothing bad comes to this journey outside to the yard, this left me roaming the dark hours of the night causing danger to be more probable.  Going down the stairs was another challenge I would face, trying not to gain the attention of my uncle Forte in the process of shoveling the yard. 

I stopped for seconds at every noise the floorboards made and the staircase creaked out, my breath hitched hoping that nobody would hear me, that my uncle wouldn't hear me. I carefully pulled my boots on my feet and my coat on my back. I tiptoed done the small, narrow hallway, past the living room and as I reached the backdoor, I gripped the golden handle and pulled the door open making an obnoxiously loud creaking noise coming from the hinges. All I could hear next were footfalls. 

At the time of night that it was my uncle liked to assume that I was asleep and often that would protect me from any harsh punishment consisting of lectures on what happened to things like washing the house till the windows sparkled and the paint was so clean it shined. In the small moment of time of my thoughts, my uncle had turned the sharp corner, his long strides guiding him as he looked at me with this cold look, his arms crossed, and his chin held high with a final step in front of me. 

I watched as his stature seem to get even taller as he opens his mouth to say something, "Lillian Jane Lakeview" was all that came out though this wasn't what I was expecting the tone of his voice sounded angry, the words soaked with venom, and the way they were whispered was in this bone-chilling way. Sweat came trickling down my forehead as my legs seem to be not working and my voice came so small it wasn't audible. "Kitchen. Now."