by Brianna G. Harte
The breezes blew through my white, puffy coat easily. A shiver shot up my spine, and I held onto Andrew with my woolen gloved hand. When a gust ran through the canopy again, my feet moved faster. I grabbed my brother’s hand, pulling him along.
“Come on!” I hissed.
In a second, I hauled him onto my back and began to run. Each step weighed me down. It wasn’t just Andrew, who was bobbing up and down. It wasn’t just the snow. My heart raced. Snow blinded me as it picked up, coming in harsher flurries.
I rushed through the edge of the forest, careful not to break through the grounds of the town. A single footprint was all it took. All it took to ruin all of us.
As time passed, thoughts pounded. With the temperature dropping over the past couple of weeks, the invaders in their silvery suits and makeup painted faces could almost be seen grinning even when they always stayed in their little section of the town. Forcing the snow to come down by throwing water into the atmosphere. Building an enormous fan to slow us down. Despicable. I would pummel them if only . . .
I swallowed the thought as we approached our backyard with not a footstep to break the pristine layer of white. Letting Drew down, I took in a deep breath. As he ascended the tree that careened over our home, the gusts of air cried out. I narrowed my eyes, scanning the area. Drew would be overhead now. He’d be safe enough soon. As long as he didn’t look down. Doubt of him getting onto the roof did not exist. Still, my skin itched to gaze up. I touched the tree. Only seconds later, small vibrations rattled through the trunk. I couldn’t stand it. My eyes drew skyward, only to catch a glimpse of Drew, hanging on the edge of the branch at least forty feet above. He gripped it hard and tried to swing to the roof. His head turned to the ground.
Beneath my breath, I murmured, “Oh god.”
At that second, I forgot our rules.
Don’t make a single mark. My feet broke through the untouched yard of snow.
Be quiet. Don’t let them hear you. I shouted to Drew, hoping that he’d hold on.
Be strong. My knees wanted to buckle beneath my weight.
Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.
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