First Frost (ONC 2023 Novella, MxM Paranormal)

5: Polar Expedition

I make my way down the spiral staircase of the apartment building two steps at a time. The soles of my off-brand boots smatter against the stone and the sound multiplies as it echoes against the bare walls. None of my neighbors are out. They're probably wisely tucked up inside underneath layers of blankets with a warm beverage in hand.

They're wiser than me, the idiot about to brave the snowstorm for a hot meal. But I need the nourishment to be able to tackle my other task. And my sister's advice may guide me in how to proceed in regard to Anton.

The mere sight of the relentless snowfall outside causes my body to shiver. I peer through the milky glass—made dim from a sheet of ice covering the outside—of the main door to the building for a few seconds, gathering the courage to face the storm.

The radio told me that going outside is advised against, unless necessary. But I consider my mission necessary for my physical and mental health currently. Besides, Ida and her family only live 2 blocks away. It's a five-minute walk in normal conditions, perhaps the double now. What can happen in such a short time?

Famous last words...

Before I can psych myself out, I push the door open. Immediately, a gust of snow whirls into my face, finding its way into my nostrils and numbing my cheeks.

Great start. This can only get better!

Determined to trudge on, I pull my icy blue down jacket closer to my body and dip my chin down deeper below the collar. Only my eyes peer out between the top of it and the home-knitted hat with a giant puff, courtesy of my sister, which is pulled down atop my still-wet hair. Showering right before going outside in winter is rarely a good idea as you soon end up with a flashy hair-do made of icicles. A few strands have snuck out around my ears and the rigid feeling when turning my head tells me they have frozen already.

With giant mittens that make my hands look like polar bear paws, I feel like one of those polar explorers from the turn of the century. I wonder if this was how the members of the infamous Andreé expedition, who got stuck on Svalbard and starved to death after a failed balloon trip to the North Pole, felt when they started their journey into a cold unknown. I may be slightly over dramatic though as a snowy stroll toward an alluring Sunday dinner can hardly be compared to the struggles of historic adventurers.

The street outside hasn't been plowed yet. Perhaps the city's snow plows are all stuck in the reported traffic chaos. So I have to create my own path through the almost knee-high piles of newly fallen white powder.

Frozen flakes make their way into my boots, melting into cold drops as they touch my skin. My toes are already starting to tingle from being dipped into the snow with each step, even if I am wearing both boots and socks on top. It hardly seems to matter. Although I wager that walking barefoot would be a lot worse.

Cascades of snow blow down from the ceilings, clouding the world with its shimmer. I can see no one else on the street, perhaps because no one is as dumb as me. But to be fair, I can also barely see my hand in front of me on account of the whirling downpour.

Step by step, I make my way toward the corner of the building. This is where I need to turn toward Ida's apartment. Seeing no vehicles on the road, I step into the middle of the street to walk in the old intentions of wheel tracks, where the snow is shallower. This should speed up my journey slightly.

I'm lucky my sister is so close, because a lot of the time, I would be lost without her. Adulting on one's own is difficult when you barely feel like an adult. But Ida, with a husband, two kids, a dog, and a cozy apartment with alive flowers in the windows, is definitely an adult. Being ten years older than me, I guess it's to be expected, but I kind of doubt I will be as adult as her at thirty.

Before she met her husband, a hipster marketing executive in glasses with too thick frames (that I doubt he even needs for vision correction), she used to live in the apartment I now call mine back in the day. It belongs to our grandpa, who grew up there, and since real estate in central Stockholm is almost impossible to get by, he's kept it to rent cheaply to his kids and grandkids, while he himself lives his best life in a cabin right between the forest and the sea. There, he can enjoy the changing of seasons at a leisurely pace, far away from the cobblestones of the city where he was born.

Sometimes, I wish I could join him. Because while I love the city in small doses, like the magical party of the night before, most of the time, it stresses me out. Too many feet on the streets, too many noises in the night, too many lights blurring the stars.

Flashing lights startle me. A car is heading in my direction. In high speed. Too high speed for these snow-filled streets.

I'm right in the trajectory of it. I hear the sound of screeching tires as the driver tries to brake, to no avail. Sideways, the snow-covered vehicle slides toward me.

With no time to move out of the way, I by reflex put my hands out in front of me to shield myself, even though I know it won't matter. Bones and flesh are no match for a careening metal machine.

But ice is another matter.

Because as I throw my hands out, a several-meter-high wall of ice rises from the ground in front of me. It's so thick that I can barely see through it and its blue sheen sparkles eerily in the glow of the street lights.

It's there for but a millisecond before it shatters from the impact of the car, slowing it down enough for me to awake from my frozen shock to throw myself to the side, into the cold snow bank. Frozen drops infiltrate every inch of my skin as I roll in the soft powder. A sharp pain radiates from my knees as it hits what must be the side of the pavement.

All in all, it's not an enjoyable experience but it's infinitely preferable to being hit by a car. That I'm sure of.

The car continues on its treacherous journey, the driver not even bothering to check on me. Perhaps they're not sure I was even there as the flurry of snow blurs everything into one white mess of nothingness.

Sitting up, I brush off my clothes, ensuring no limbs are broken. I'm frozen to the bone, and my knees pounds in pain. Red splotches on the jeans fabric tell me the skin has torn underneath. But I'm mostly intact at least.

I gaze toward the street, looking for proof of what was there. The instantaneous wall of ice saved me. I know it. How or why doesn't feel as important as confirming that what I saw was real?

As the stirred-up snow from my collision with the ground settles, I see it. Proof.

Glittering blue shards of ice adorn the street where I just stood. Impossible in their beauty and realness.

Author's Note: This story is an ambs pick for round 1 of ONC! I'm honestly in shock, as I wasn't really confident in this story (and actually started a second story partly for that reason) but this has instilled faith in me that this concept may actually work.

I'm not yet at 8k for this story though, so now, I gotta hustle! This will very much be a first draft kind of story though so please forgive me for any mistakes or meandering narrative :)