The key here is am I showing enough emotion and atmosphere? Do you feel like you are there skiing with me, or watching me ski? Can you feel what it feels like to ski?
Regardless of how picturesque
the view was, with the pure, white snow coating the mountain, or the clearness
of the blue skies, it was bitterly cold; to point where after five minutes
exposed to the conditions, your toes were numb.
Harrison
muttered to himself in his husky voice as he nestled his chin deeper beneath
his collar, “Let’s try something new she says, it’s something different she
says. Ridiculous.”
He’d always hated the cold, ever since he was a
child. His family home had been a Victorian terrace which only had a log fire
in the living room. It was the fifties, long before central heating systems
were a mod con. Growing up in a family of six and being the youngest meant that
he had been at the back of the group whenever they gathered around on those
cold nights.
Another
fifties years later and he was re-living that experience, albeit with a better
view point. Nevertheless, it was not his idea of ‘a good time,’ as his wife,
Jeanette had put it.
To
avoid another argument, he had lied and told her he had pulled something coming
down the slopes the day before; he looked back at his Oscar worthy limp routine
across the bedroom and determined that had won him the seat at the lodge
fifteen minutes away from where they were staying for the day.
Unfortunately
for him, the lodge didn’t open until twelve thirty. He’d have to wait in the
cold until it opened. He’d decided not to go back to the hotel; it smelled
funny, and the bar there was full of happy skiers. No thank you, he told
himself.
Harrison paced up and down
the decking as he watched skiers fly by with an exhilaration etched on their
face. He sneered at them. He much preferred a crime novel and a nice, large
glass of vodka, neat. Ice only watered it down. Ice; he hated the very thought
of it as he looked around at the blanket of whiteness before him.
His
ideal selection for a holiday destination would have put him somewhere along
the equator. A heat source that never failed for him and he would happily
saunter around without the need for any heavy clothing or long, plastic foot
extensions.
The
locks on the doors of the lodge clicked behind him and he shot around to see
the manager opening the doors up for the first time that day. Harrison charged
forward.
“Good
afternoon, Sir.”
Harrison
grunted as he crossed him on the threshold. He quickly made his way to the bar
and established himself on the stool in the corner, furthest away from the
door. He couldn’t put up with another day of people opening and closing the
door, bringing in the chilliest gusts of wind.
The
barman approached him, flicking a coaster onto the oak, bar surface, “What can
I get you, Sir?”
“A new
wife,” he said.
Let me know your thoughts.
Thanks.
