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Description
Snowing

It was a normal day, or as normal as they come. The snow fluttered down, not quite believing gravity's irritated insisting. Gravity, unfortunately, was used to this uppity behavior, with the days already short with cold. Winter itself lay heavily about the land, possibly because gravity was having such a bad day. This small kingdom of suburbia had an odd property about it. If you looked at everything for a singular angle, that very greyscale paved road with it's sleeping ice cream parlor was the center of the universe. Some of the more obnoxious persuasion would have called the area a 'safe-zone', but they were just presumptuous.

Not to mention they looked at everything from an odd angle. After all, everything in the universe has a tendency to change on a dime (1).

Perhaps they weren't all incorrect, for two curious souls had dared to break the curfew imposed by biting winds and barking dogs. Odd ones like them will leave the house to simply go walking, during the lull of the weekends. Blatantly ignoring all speculation on our part, these two young ladies, bundled in their winter apparel, met. It might be worth noting this was all done directly in front of the ice cream parlor, and neither girl looked surprised. One, dressed in a dingy white coat (ears turning red and inches from a neglected hood) grinned at nothing in particular.

"I wanted ice cream, too." She huffed, blonde strands of hair floating about. One might say their defiance of gravity was in kinship with the snow. A distressingly similar head of blonde hair rested in a more restrained manner across from her belonging to a more restrained mistress. The owner of the more contained golden hair snorts.

"It's winter time." She says hollowly, knowing it won't make a difference. However, a careful observer might catch amusement and annoyance in her voice before they run away, hand in hand.

Two feminine figures face each other, and at first glance they appear otherworldly. By one's second glance there is no such discrepancy.

"So, how ya been?" Grins the off-white clad girl. Her companion, currently swathed in a more appropriate gray fleece overcoat, black gloves, and a hat (one of those cute hunter ones with flaps for your ears that tie under your chin), raises and eyebrow.

"Fine." She answers. The pale clad girl, colored much like her clothing, makes a distressed face and bites her lip.

"Oh, sorry. Forget that." By unspoken agreement they have started walking back the way the pale girl walked, crunching over her footprints. Unspoken, that is, if you ignore the nagging voice of subzero degree weather, which is anything but silent. They walk quietly for a few moments before the off-white girls speaks again.

"Let me try that again. Do you know what the word "fine" stands for?"

". . ."

The white girl's face breaks into a grin.

"Freaked-out, insecure, neurotic and emotional!" She proclaims happily. "That's from 'The Italian Job'. Bloody good movie." She adds, a separate thought. "Have you seen it?"

"Nope."

"Er. . . sorry." More silence follows, and the girls wait at the crosswalk, impatient to cross the empty road. Perhaps when the adjective impatient is used, it should be used more specifically; only the girl in white kept glancing down the road, until her face split with a grin.

"Come on!" She shouts, rushing across the dead road. The dark girl follows a moment later, casually traversing the road when the 'walk' signal blinks.

The darker girl casts another look laced with annoyance and amusement toward her partner. No one bothers to ask where and what the two emotions have been up to, because embarrassment's stamp on their faces is enough.

At this point, now that the proverbial ice has been broken (both girls still look frozen) the girls walk in silence no longer. The soft whisper of conversation drifts between them. It appears to be a relaxed game, where dropping the thread of speech is quite acceptable.

Eventually they reach a playground, and make their way towards the swings, led by the more talkative blonde's urgings. Despite their plasticy invitation the swings are a little small, and a new conversation is started.

The white coated one starts chattering, something about how much she likes playgrounds: hasn't been to one in a while, how awful is that ----..-----...---..---- And so on. Occasional nods are important to feign interest, the darker blonde remembers.

"Are you paying attention?"

"Hmm?" 'Only a little bit'

"Well, if you don't want to listen to me, you talk." She says, all floating hair and reprove. Finally amusement and annoyance pay the light one a call, and she's rather disturbed by their state of undress. The dark girl meets relief and anger, and is pleased to note they as 'active' as there fellow emotions. Conversations are always easier when she didn't have to contribute.

To appease her companion she talked anyway. About her parents, her job, her boyfriend. Oddly enough she wasn't interrupted, too many times. Maybe a little less that usually anyway. Finally she got crazy and gave her fluttery comrade something to really talk about. It was always dangerous when something like that happened. Interesting, but dangerous.

"What do you think of my story?" She hates saying book. That sounds too. . . real. The flighty one ponders while swinging. Both of them have long since lost feeling in their rears, but neither moves; opportunities like this swing don't come very often.

"I don't know. It's not bad. I mean, I always love reading your work." The words twist in the pale one's mouth, and awkward attempt at articulacy. The other girl smirk/sighs from her own motionless swing, safely out of view. Here comes the 'butt'.

". . . but, it's kinda boring." She admits, hair swirling around her. Quickly she rushes to explain, and her swing-fellow savours being one of the few who merit an explanation.

"I don't mean the style itself. Love that. It's the plot. Your hero is always . . . the same. He's too . . . manly for me. I dunno. Know what I mean?" The pale one begins to ramble, but surprisingly has the awareness to stop before she gets caught up in meaningless words. Her counterpart nods, already sifting through the nonsense, mildly interesting in the content.

"But I like him." The darker girl states. The white one stutters, a thousand and one rebuttals being though up and instantly rejected.

"There you have it." The flighty blonde settles with.

A bout of much needed quiet follows, in which both women notice the snow has stopped falling. Instead, it dances through the air, blown about by the wind's stinging tempo. The wind adds a new depth to the cold, and the pale girl finally concedes, pulling on her hood.

She complains that she looks dorky. If nothing else, she certainly feels dorky.

The weather is not going to turn tropical any time soon, so both girls disperse, back to wherever they came from.

Not that it really matters.

At least, not if you ask the snow, which would claim the only important event that occurred that day when the wind finally stopped sometime during the night. After which gravity 'caught Jerry with his pants down' and the snow suffered her greatest defeat at the hands of the laws of physics, and was forced to sign a stilted contract, the effects of which can still be felt today.

The signing took place under the stars, after the clouds had set and the sun gone to bed, so no one can verify these events.

Perhaps if they could, they would have paid more attention to the glories of this blustery winter afternoon, during which the snow pranced about arrogantly, looking startlingly like angel wings.

If one had the imagination for such things.

(1) And sometimes on a nickel

#

Description
Snowing

It was a normal day, or as normal as they come. The snow fluttered down, not quite believing gravity's irritated insisting. Gravity, unfortunately, was used to this uppity behavior, with the days already short with cold. Winter itself lay heavily about the land, possibly because gravity was having such a bad day. This small kingdom of suburbia had an odd property about it. If you looked at everything for a singular angle, that very greyscale paved road with it's sleeping ice cream parlor was the center of the universe. Some of the more obnoxious persuasion would have called the area a 'safe-zone', but they were just presumptuous.

Not to mention they looked at everything from an odd angle. After all, everything in the universe has a tendency to change on a dime (1).

Perhaps they weren't all incorrect, for two curious souls had dared to break the curfew imposed by biting winds and barking dogs. Odd ones like them will leave the house to simply go walking, during the lull of the weekends. Blatantly ignoring all speculation on our part, these two young ladies, bundled in their winter apparel, met. It might be worth noting this was all done directly in front of the ice cream parlor, and neither girl looked surprised. One, dressed in a dingy white coat (ears turning red and inches from a neglected hood) grinned at nothing in particular.

"I wanted ice cream, too." She huffed, blonde strands of hair floating about. One might say their defiance of gravity was in kinship with the snow. A distressingly similar head of blonde hair rested in a more restrained manner across from her belonging to a more restrained mistress. The owner of the more contained golden hair snorts.

"It's winter time." She says hollowly, knowing it won't make a difference. However, a careful observer might catch amusement and annoyance in her voice before they run away, hand in hand.

Two feminine figures face each other, and at first glance they appear otherworldly. By one's second glance there is no such discrepancy.

"So, how ya been?" Grins the off-white clad girl. Her companion, currently swathed in a more appropriate gray fleece overcoat, black gloves, and a hat (one of those cute hunter ones with flaps for your ears that tie under your chin), raises and eyebrow.

"Fine." She answers. The pale clad girl, colored much like her clothing, makes a distressed face and bites her lip.

"Oh, sorry. Forget that." By unspoken agreement they have started walking back the way the pale girl walked, crunching over her footprints. Unspoken, that is, if you ignore the nagging voice of subzero degree weather, which is anything but silent. They walk quietly for a few moments before the off-white girls speaks again.

"Let me try that again. Do you know what the word "fine" stands for?"

". . ."

The white girl's face breaks into a grin.

"Freaked-out, insecure, neurotic and emotional!" She proclaims happily. "That's from 'The Italian Job'. Bloody good movie." She adds, a separate thought. "Have you seen it?"

"Nope."

"Er. . . sorry." More silence follows, and the girls wait at the crosswalk, impatient to cross the empty road. Perhaps when the adjective impatient is used, it should be used more specifically; only the girl in white kept glancing down the road, until her face split with a grin.

"Come on!" She shouts, rushing across the dead road. The dark girl follows a moment later, casually traversing the road when the 'walk' signal blinks.

The darker girl casts another look laced with annoyance and amusement toward her partner. No one bothers to ask where and what the two emotions have been up to, because embarrassment's stamp on their faces is enough.

At this point, now that the proverbial ice has been broken (both girls still look frozen) the girls walk in silence no longer. The soft whisper of conversation drifts between them. It appears to be a relaxed game, where dropping the thread of speech is quite acceptable.

Eventually they reach a playground, and make their way towards the swings, led by the more talkative blonde's urgings. Despite their plasticy invitation the swings are a little small, and a new conversation is started.

The white coated one starts chattering, something about how much she likes playgrounds: hasn't been to one in a while, how awful is that ----..-----...---..---- And so on. Occasional nods are important to feign interest, the darker blonde remembers.

"Are you paying attention?"

"Hmm?" 'Only a little bit'

"Well, if you don't want to listen to me, you talk." She says, all floating hair and reprove. Finally amusement and annoyance pay the light one a call, and she's rather disturbed by their state of undress. The dark girl meets relief and anger, and is pleased to note they as 'active' as there fellow emotions. Conversations are always easier when she didn't have to contribute.

To appease her companion she talked anyway. About her parents, her job, her boyfriend. Oddly enough she wasn't interrupted, too many times. Maybe a little less that usually anyway. Finally she got crazy and gave her fluttery comrade something to really talk about. It was always dangerous when something like that happened. Interesting, but dangerous.

"What do you think of my story?" She hates saying book. That sounds too. . . real. The flighty one ponders while swinging. Both of them have long since lost feeling in their rears, but neither moves; opportunities like this swing don't come very often.

"I don't know. It's not bad. I mean, I always love reading your work." The words twist in the pale one's mouth, and awkward attempt at articulacy. The other girl smirk/sighs from her own motionless swing, safely out of view. Here comes the 'butt'.

". . . but, it's kinda boring." She admits, hair swirling around her. Quickly she rushes to explain, and her swing-fellow savours being one of the few who merit an explanation.

"I don't mean the style itself. Love that. It's the plot. Your hero is always . . . the same. He's too . . . manly for me. I dunno. Know what I mean?" The pale one begins to ramble, but surprisingly has the awareness to stop before she gets caught up in meaningless words. Her counterpart nods, already sifting through the nonsense, mildly interesting in the content.

"But I like him." The darker girl states. The white one stutters, a thousand and one rebuttals being though up and instantly rejected.

"There you have it." The flighty blonde settles with.

A bout of much needed quiet follows, in which both women notice the snow has stopped falling. Instead, it dances through the air, blown about by the wind's stinging tempo. The wind adds a new depth to the cold, and the pale girl finally concedes, pulling on her hood.

She complains that she looks dorky. If nothing else, she certainly feels dorky.

The weather is not going to turn tropical any time soon, so both girls disperse, back to wherever they came from.

Not that it really matters.

At least, not if you ask the snow, which would claim the only important event that occurred that day when the wind finally stopped sometime during the night. After which gravity 'caught Jerry with his pants down' and the snow suffered her greatest defeat at the hands of the laws of physics, and was forced to sign a stilted contract, the effects of which can still be felt today.

The signing took place under the stars, after the clouds had set and the sun gone to bed, so no one can verify these events.

Perhaps if they could, they would have paid more attention to the glories of this blustery winter afternoon, during which the snow pranced about arrogantly, looking startlingly like angel wings.

If one had the imagination for such things.

(1) And sometimes on a nickel

#