Ice Sculptures
a 100-word story
Ice hangs in the air, a thousand crystal daggers. It hurts to breathe.
This is the place the witch foretold.
Frozen temple,
Trees of fragile glass.
Mist forms haunted dreams;
Faded memories last.
The trees were the giveaway.
I pull the vial of mist and magic from my heavy coat, struggling to remove the stopper with one gloved hand. But then—
The mist seeps out, freezing, taking shape. Her shape.
I rip off my glove, reaching, yearning.
Icy resurrection makes her unhappy. But now we’ve become two crystal statues. And I have eternity to gaze into her frozen, angry eyes.
Why write a story in 100 words? Strict parameters force creativity. And I really enjoy the form. Thanks to (who does these every day!) for reminding me how fun these can be. Also, I may have re-watched Frozen with a slightly sick kid this week. So, inspiration.
And another thing: It’s never too late to dig into some gratitude. Check out this week’s “Now Discern This” over at Jesuits.org.