Our Snow – A fantasy flash fiction story

No. 30/100 flash fiction stories

Bela Thornfield stared out her window, longing to be anywhere else. 

No, not just anywhere else, but North, where—according to her elven penpal—the fields were covered with glorious white snow. Here at the Southern Ridge, everything was just…green. And brown. 

“Can’t you do something about it?” she’d asked Grandpa Rabick. 

Grandpa had tugged on his beard thoughtfully. “Now, why would you think that?” 

Bela had crossed her arms and given him her best grumpy face. Grandpa always tried to hide that he was a wizard, but Bela knew the truth: he could do anything!

Except, it seemed, change the weather. 

“It’s simply too hot here, my dear,” had been the explanation. “Changing the weather is a very difficult task, and not my area, either.” 

So Bela sighed, pressed her forehead against the window, and wished. 

And a dark flake drifted down from the sky. 

Bela gasped. She blinked and realized that while she’d been wishing so hard, the yard had been dusted with the black stuff. 

I thought snow was supposed to be white, she thought. 

But at that moment, she didn’t care. 

Bela threw the window open and clambered outside, holding her hand out to collect the little flakes of snow. Strangely enough, they felt warm instead of cold. Had Kaylin been telling her tall tales this whole time? Nothing she’d said about snow seemed to be true!

“As close to snow as I could get around here,” came Grandpa Rabick’s voice. He walked around from the front of the house, pointing into the distance. “I coaxed Mount Virland into giving me some help—and no worries, he promised not to fully erupt.” 

Bela wondered what in the world he was talking about until she followed where he’d been pointing. Over the mountain—or, more accurately, the volcano—sat a thick cloud of ash. 

“Merry Solstice…for what it’s worth,” Grandpa chuckled. “I know it’s not what you wanted, but I wanted to give you something, anyway.” 

Bela’s heart sank as she looked at the pile of ash in her hand. It wasn’t snow at all…but she could always pretend, and it was better than nothing at all. 

Bela ran to Grandpa and hugged him tightly. “It’s not the same, but that’s okay—it’s our snow.” 

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When you write as much as I do, you have to take frequent breaks from sitting. A standing desk (not a whole desk, but a mini desk that will sit on top of my current desk with my laptop, keyboard, and mouse and extend upward) will allow me to continue working while maintaining that good blood flow to my brain. Thank you so much for your support that allows me to keep producing free content. God bless you! ♥️ E.J.


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