Short Stories of the Arctic

The Vicious Snow

    The heavy, cold-hearted snow was tumbling down the steep and rocky hill. "Whoosh!" It continued to plummet, faster and faster and faster. The explorer knew what his fate would be. He jumped over a large fence gate and it seemed as if his adrenaline had boosted him twenty feet in the air. His friend nearby wasn't nearly as fast. "Crunch!" The snow had eaten up the man. He was so cold that it was hot. He was being burned alive by the viscous white blanket of wrath. The other explorer's tears turned into ice. The freezing Canadian snow shan't beat him now, he is so close so the Alaskan tundra of which gold would reside. He had trouble walking because the wind was tackling him backwards. He didn't bring goggles so his eyes couldn't open without a pound of snow entering them. His ice pick flew out of hands and tumbled on air in the vast distance behind him. He continued to trek. The evil ice and snow was turning him red. Then orange. Then blue. He teeth were chattering about. A giant gust of wind lifted his left leg and threw him forwards. He landed into a vast snow ditch. His compass' cover was cracked, but he knew he was going into the right direction. He stumbled back up and continued to make his way forwards. His hat was lost in the deep snow, nowhere to be found. This means his ears were the coldest part of him. Alas he continued forth until he reached the Alaskan tundra. This doesn't mean the temperature would back down. No, instead it got even colder the more north he got. He was in the northernmost part of Alaska now, the coldest part. Without his pick he had a harder time cracking the tough ice. He has to use his fists. "Crack!" "Crack!" He found the precious shiny metal of which he was looking for. "Gold!" He shouted, grabbing it with his bloody fists. His friend would be so proud.