Last Memories

This story was written for the daily contest Writer's Cramp. There is a word count limit of 1,000. The prompt for the story is the following quote:

Snow provokes responses that reach right back to childhood. ~Andy Goldsworthy

The bush pilot swung the plane low over a group of small structures on the edge of the glacier. Over the roar of the engine, Thomas could hear him explaining how there were several such villages. The people there survived from one day to the next on what little they could coax out of the land. It wasn’t unusual for an entire village to disappear if the hunting was bad or the winter too harsh.

Thomas was less interested in the migration habits of the locals than that of the local polar bear population. If he was to bag one of those giant beauties, he would have to do it soon. Climate change was making it more likely that the bears would soon be a protected species. He had to get his trophy before it was too late.

Little Thomas Sutton looked out the window in disbelief. It was snow! He knew that for sure. He had seen plenty of movies and TV shows with snow in them. Supposedly it was wet and cold but he found that hard to believe. It looked soft and welcoming. Without a second thought, he raced out the front door in his pajamas and began prancing around. This was going to be the best Christmas ever!

He opened his eyes expecting to see someone typing on a keyboard. It took him a few moments to realize that the chattering sound was actually his own teeth. Something was wrong – very wrong. The plane, that was it. They must have crashed. He shifted his head around carefully only to find the pilot hanging upside down still strapped in his seat. The blank stare told Thomas all he needed to know.

There was no fire or smell of gas. Maybe he could get the radio working and call for help. All was not lost.

I’m Thomas Sutton. I get things done. I’ve never failed and won’t start now.

As he moved slightly, the sharp pain in his leg told him he might be wrong about that last thought. He rolled over painfully to see the white wall of a blizzard heading his way. It was going to be a long night.

He pulled his sister down the street on the new sled that showed up under the Christmas tree that morning. There had been lots of presents to open and Christmas cookies to eat. All of that couldn’t stop him and little Maggie from heading outside as soon as they could. Snowballs, snow angels and snowmen were all on the agenda – but first, a quick trip around the neighborhood to show off the sled.

Time lost all meaning as periods of dark and light pushed each other aside for the right to keep him company in what had become a frozen tomb. He knew that he and the plane had been buried but probably not too deep since he could sometimes see his hand in front of him.

Not that it mattered. He knew he and the plane had just become part of the background; a white lump on a blanket of snow. No one knew he was there and they probably wouldn’t see him if they looked right at him. Thomas knew the end was near when he lost sensation in his legs. Frostbite.

The shivering had stopped but he was certain that was not good news. It was as if his body had simply said “Why bother?” Tunnel vision came. He identified it correctly as a precursor to…

”Mom, can’t I stay out just a little longer? Pleeeeaaaassse.”

It had been the best day of his life. He had spent all of it outside in the snow with the kids from his neighborhood. Now, as the sun prepared to set, he suddenly realized how worn out he was. His mom made him take off his wet clothes and put on his pajamas. Since it was a holiday, he and Maggie would be able to stay up just a little later. They sat in front of the fireplace, Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer played on TV.

He blinked weakly into the bright light. This must be what everyone was talking about, he thought. He was surprised when strong arms reached in and pulled him free of the wreckage that had been his home for the last few days.

He faded in and out. There were people standing around. They looked thin and frail beneath the big hooded coats. He felt himself sliding along on, perhaps on a sled or something. He woke in a small room, little more than a shack. There were people moving about, chanting or something.

They offered him food. He was too weak, too far gone.

With a sudden clarity, he realized that these must be the villagers he had flown over. They offered him, a dying man, food, when they didn’t have enough to feed themselves.

Tears of gratitude fell down the side of his face. He wished he could tell them how he felt - how much he appreciated their efforts, but he was too weak. An old wrinkled woman came over to wipe the tears away. He could see it in her eyes. She understood.

”Come on Thomas. It’s time to go.”

It was Mom again.

“Please Mom, I just want to play a little longer.”

She took his hand and smiled. There was that bright light again.

Word count 899