Mar 1st – A new fallen snow

March 1st – A new fallen snow


Winter was late in coming. Autumn had dragged on, Christmas was warm, and mild, and wet, and it was not until well into the new year that he got the news he was waiting for. Snow was coming.

The temperature had plummeted rapidly over the past week, and plusses had turned to minuses and stayed there, the red line of his thermometer falling into the blue and lingering.

When it snowed, it stayed.

That was always the way.

It had come earlier when he was a boy: white Christmases were the norm, not unusual, and he thought that all Christmas cards just showed the truth: what he saw out of the window reproduced on paper, with more robins than he was used to, but otherwise pretty much the same.

It would snow tonight, and the snow would stay until April.

That was long enough.

It didn’t take him long to do what he needed to. Face wrapped against the cold, gloved hands. Moving the bulky object took some time, but he had to do it now, before the snow came. By then it would be too late.

The adrenaline rush was exhilarating.

He had chosen his spot with care. Nobody would come tonight, not with snow in the air, and the first flakes were falling when he finished his final task. Now all he had to do was wait.

He waited until the snow was heavy, huge flakes like cotton wool balls falling in sacks, whitening the landscape. As he drove home, carefully, the sky was the same colour as the ground, the road disappearing, his windscreen wipers pushing the snow into sharp-edged Vs at each side of the windscreen. He shook the snow from his coat as he walked the few steps from the car to his porch, banging his feet against the brickwork to clear the soles of his boots.

He poured himself a drink, sat by the window, and watched, and waited.

He watched all night.

The forecasters were not wrong. The snow continued all night, and by the next morning showed no signs of letting up. 30 centimetres, almost 12 inches, had already fallen, and this first snowfall was going to last for days.

In the forest, on the edge of a small clearing, there was an almost imperceptible ridge, a bump in a new fallen snow. By tomorrow, that too would be gone, and everything would be smooth, and pure, and white.

They would discover the body in the Spring.

By spring, he would be somewhere else, somewhere out of their reach.


Inspired by a prompt from here


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