"Not Yet" - Your Story #47 Finalist

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"Not Yet" - Your Story #47 Finalist

Postby TiffanyLuckey » Tue Jan 29, 2013 4:22 pm

Not Yet

The frozen spring groaned in protest as Albert opened the wooden screen door. One glance at the trampled snow on the porch and he knew that she had been there. His eyes traveled along the path she had left behind, following her beckoning footprints as they disappeared down the snow-covered road. Would he once again trail after her? No, the question was not if he would, but how soon.

She taunted him, painting his windows a frail, lacy shade of white and whispering his name down the chimney and through the cracks around the windows. He had long since given up trying to keep her out of his cabin hermitage entirely. He would wake and find traces of her entry around the threshold in the morning, for it was the night that made her insistent.

During the day, the cheery fireplace kept her at bay, but after dusk, huddled in his bed, he would pull the worn quilt over his head to escape her keening. When the frigid night awakened her ancient need for him, she relentlessly stalked him, calling to him, begging him to come to her in the false glow of the moonlit snow. At other times, she melted into a demure woman whose power to draw him out was in her gelid aloofness. He wanted her, too, but he could not give in to her so soon. Not yet.

With tenacity that rivaled hers, he shook the frail screen door in an attempt to dislodge the tufts of snow that stuck to the small squares. This was, for the time being, as close as they could be. A half-hearted pound of his fist persuaded the rest of the snow to drop away.

He leaned his forehead against the doorjamb, as he trailed his fingers up and down the wires of the screen, a gentle metallic twang scaling the air. He remembered Adelaide leading him along the mountain road to this isolated cabin as she gathered strength and he used the last of his. Eventually, he had closed the cabin door and succumbed to the siren call of the wind and the chuckle of crisp leaves, as he fell into a dreamscape of orange and mauve skies, broken only by chevron flocks of birds.

He knew what she would do, for he had done the same in his own way. Forbidden entry, she would stand on his porch and vent her sorrow by shredding the graying clouds with her icy tears. Adelaide would mourn him just as he always mourned her.

He opened the door again and gazed at the soft footprints on the snowy road. This white ground was her final statement of indignation. “Follow me,” she dared impatiently, and she had stalked off down the road, away from him, knowing that he would.

Albert posed, one foot ready to step out onto the porch. He could feel rejuvenation under his feet, even through the floorboards, as it rooted its way through the frozen ground. Today, perhaps, he would run to catch up to her, the snow dwindling as the sun rose before them. He would walk her to her cottage, showing her the small crocus heads peeking out along the way. His desire to share the daffodils and early flowers that colored his world grew as the flowers did—profusely and wildly.

But she would smile a tired smile, trail her icy fingers across his cheek one last time, then close the door of her cottage prison against his heat. And he would mourn her with wild, whipping winds and hurricanes that rattled the earth and sea. Then he would acquiesce and serenade her with chittering birds and rushing blue and white streams, and adorn her prison with green grass and red and gold flowers that rivaled her cool beauty, even as his heated passion burned down on her place of refuge.

The screen door banged shut as he exiled himself to the confines of the cabin once again. A screen door could never protect the cabin from snow; it wasn’t meant to. Nor could he protect his heart from the sublime pain that following those footprints would bring.
He shook the cold from his bones. He knew he would go to her. Even if her footprints melted with the snow, he knew the way and the spring thaw would follow like it always did. Just not today. He wasn’t ready. Soon, though. Soon, the seasons would change.

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Re: "Not Yet" - Your Story #47 Finalist

Postby Hisskitty » Thu Feb 14, 2013 8:48 pm

Fascinating story! Extremely imaginative and unexpected.

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Re: "Not Yet" - Your Story #47 Finalist

Postby JennyO » Sat Feb 16, 2013 12:44 am

This is my favorite one by far! Being from Iowa and growing weary of the permafrost, I really got into this story. Come on, Spring! I can bargly stand it!

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Re: "Not Yet" - Your Story #47 Finalist

Postby natethegreat » Sat Feb 16, 2013 10:07 am

Great writing! The author did a wonderful job of wording this piece.

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Re: "Not Yet" - Your Story #47 Finalist

Postby KennyHahn » Fri Feb 22, 2013 12:34 pm

This was really beautiful. I absolutely loved it :)

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