The underside

A story with no real point to it

The snow shot down from the sky, covering anyone and anything. The wind bit upon the  misfortunates, giving the world a howling war cry as it was charging in. Most of the city's inhabitants had retreated to their homes in attempt to escape the wicked cold. The businessman of the city looked at the impending blizzard with contempt. To them, it only meant a delay of business. To them, it only meant they would have to wait for their next paycheck. In the town houses, fathers and mothers gathered with their children, attempting to keep them entertained. Lovers converged, cherishing this blessing disguised as a storm. To a stranger, the city looked as if it was peacefully deserted. The streets seemed to hold no life, displaying only traces of past life.

The city streets were anything but deserted. A whole class of people had nowhere else to go.  Their only source of warmth were the trashcan fires people had lit. Mothers held on to their newborns, attempting to preserve the little life the infants held. Children, who were immune to the cold, threw snowballs at eachother, laughing when they dealt and cursing when they were on the receiving end. The adults still in good health stood around, swearing off the cold.

James navigated his way through the people. He had his coat pulled up high, and was warming his hands within his pockets. He kept his mouth shut and silently execrating the storm. His eyes had begun to frost, and he could feel the cold seeping within his jacket. He eventually found a vacant and unlit trash can. Lifting the cover and looking within, James found dry crumpled up newspaper.

“Praise the lord.” He said aloud while pulling out a pack of matches from his pocket. He struck one against the package and it caught. He placed it carefully and began to lightly air it. The materials within the can erupted in flames, causing James to have to step back. The area surrounding the can was bathed in a soft warm glow. James reached for the flames, and for a moment he looked upon it with the wonder of a child. He edged himself closer to the can, in hopes of capturing the heat before it was wasted on the snow. Naturally, the light of the fire attracted others. Out of the dark stepped an old man. The man was dressed in a sooty overcoat, much like the one James had donned. He had no hat on, revealing a balding scalp. He stood short, and relied on a cane for walking. When he smiled at James, he revealed a mouth void of teeth.

“Cou’d I may’be share your fire?” His spoke with a croaky and weak voice.

“Sure, just don’t go yelling and telling other people about this fire.” Most would turn the elder away, but James’s morality outweighed his selfishness. Also, James had always been a lonely soul, who cherished the rare company of others. The man approached the way a feral wolf approaches a kill. He pulled of his gloves and began to defrost his hands.

“This storm is born of the devil.” The old man said, as he embraced the light of the fire.

“It sure is, I don’t know how the children can make fun out of it.”

“They’re child’ren, nothin’ is real to them.”

“The cold is real. Can’t see how they could ignore it.”

“Aye, I guess you’re right.”

Neither of them had anything more to speak of, so they allowed a comfortable silence to replace conversation. This storm reminded James of another blizzard he had encountered in his youth.

He was a boy of twelve, and it was his first year of the absence of his parents. That snowstorm was one of the most brutal in history. Hail fell down like arrows, piercing through the useless umbrellas of the people rushing to shelter. James had been trapped outside during this. He had retreated to the cover of the underside of a bridge. Other people had been led to the underpass while searching for sanctuary. Around him mothers carried swaddled infants, children squabbled and played, and healthy men and women were taking turns attempting to start more fires. James had been terrified by the commotion caused by the people. For the short time he’d lived without guardians, James kept to himself. He stole food like the others, but he did not have a group who split the steal. Everything he did, was done alone. During this particular storm, people had regressed into feral beasts who turned away the unknown. James was one of the turned away. When the people of the underpassed took notice to his presence, they jumped upon him like wolves. He was forced to retreat back into the brutal weather.

A the return of the cold brought James back to reality. He looked at the dwindling fire and tossed the spare paper he had taken out of the can earlier.

“You su’re spaced out the’re.” The old man said.

“Sorry, I was caught up in a memory.”

“Ah I see, was it of’ warmer times?”
“No, colder times.”

“We hav’e enough cold as is, don’t need more.”

“That is true, you must have seen lots of winters old timer.”

“I have, this one i’s quite bruta’l though.”

“What about that one we had a few years ago, when the hail came.”

“That o’ne was terrible. People were change’d during that one. They became worse tha’n ever. I remember see’ing children thrown out of shelters for doin’ nothin’ at all.”

“I was thrown out of a shelter.”

“You were? ‘Ow did you manage to survive that one?”

“I buried myself in the snow, it was cold but I lived.”

“Ah, very smart.”

“Yeah.”

They two returned to silence, but this time James did not look back upon past times. The fire began to burn out again and this time James had no more paper to feed it. The old man sighed and began to put on his gloves again.

“I thank you’ for your’ kindnes’, but I must be going now.”

With that, the man turned and hobbled away. James was left with a dying flame and the returning cold. With no warmth left, James pulled up his coat and returned to the storm. Now just another soul searching for life.