Each day the young woman wakes up to a crying child and a missing husband, who went out into the forest to saw wood. Winter had closed in. It was cold, waking up on just a mattress, on a hard wood floor. With the child bawling in her ear, she had no choice but to get up, off the nice warm spot of the mattress. Her bare legs shake, hairs stand up. Just as she's up, she goes back down for the child.
She takes what feels like a long journey to the kitchen. With a shaking hand she tries to find the baby bottle. When the child is devouring the milk in the bottle. She stands in the freezing kitchen, wondering what to do next. She thinks of the laundry, the dirty floors, the dust, and the child. Sometimes she thinks about getting into the old beat up car, and leaving the small cold house, and everything in it. Losing the scars, the hairs, getting a proper bra and tan. She stops before she can lose herself.
When the child is done, she journeys back to the bedroom so the child can have a nap. For a second she wonders if the child dreams. She stops before she can become jealous. She picks up the clothes and tip toes out of the room.
She goes throughout the house picking up rubbish, and clothes. She tries not to sneeze from the chill, dust and baby smell that's covered every surface. She tries not to think of her husband, the cold winter, the life she could have had. So instead she focuses on the laundry going around and around in the machine. She feels numb.
As the day goes on, minutes feel like hours as she gets colder and colder. She gave up her jacket for the child. Her hairy arms shake without end. Her breath floats in front of her face. She looks out the snow covered widow, knowing her husband would be arriving in any minute. The icy air started to get into her lungs. Her breath gets longer. Her heart beats faster. She journeys to the kitchen only to find her inhaler is out of date. Heart beats faster. Breathing getting harder. She puts her hands on her boney shaking knees. She starts to see black.
A wailing child makes her jump. Breaking from the black, she runs to the sound of blubbering. Hair, legs, breath shaking. Heart beating in her ears, out of her chest. She collapses on the mattress. She barely hears the howling from the sound of her heart, breath, and the front door opening. She wants to call out, but can't. She wants to move, but can't. She can only lay there, waiting for her husband. She doesn't like this feeling, not one bit.
***
This story was based off of Forest Winter by Tim Winton
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Cold Winter
General FictionFor English class I had to write a short story, and it had to be written in the style of Tim Winton. Or write something for his book minimum of two. I hope you guys like it.
