Winter Wind

(It's not a coincidence that this story has the same name as the Winter Wind etude. I have tried to capture the feeling of defiance as well as the wind and storm it provides. This is the first part of a series I will do to match essays with an art and music. Hopefully we can all learn to appreciate art, music and writing more as an art and not just a form of entertainment. Listen to Winter Wind Etude (Op. 25, No.11) by Chopin after (or before) you read. Enjoy!

A snowy mountain looms. The peak rests in a thick layer of snow and ice, and on the top was a small platform, enough for one to rest in. Looking down on either side were steep slopes, rock, ice, and snow, and below one could see white, fluffy clouds gliding around the peak. The soft wind blows here and there, and nothing more. 

Suddenly, a sharp wind starts to blow, and the cold crack of freezing ice in the air echoes, here and there, along with the whoosh-whoosh of the high winds lifting the soft snow off the mountain floor. Ominous clouds crowd in from around, hiding the peak behind its dark shadow. Irregular flashes can be seen within, and deep rumbles shake the ground, as if a beast in sleep, letting out the occasional snore. 

Near the top of the mountain a figure hikes up slowly, step by step, and slowly lifts his head as the storm gathers. He huddles his jacket closer, and continues to walk up, despite the storm, step by step, now just a bit faster than before. 

A gust of wind blows down the side of the mountain, and the figure, leaning slightly forward, put his hands in the snow in front, grasped tightly as the sudden wind pushed him back, casting deep tracks in the snow. Around him, now, he could only see snow blowing around, the thick air filled with powder and the path in front—a path he was determined to finish. And through the wind and snow, he moved his hand forward, then one foot, then a hand, then a foot. Such, limb by limb, he slowly continued, and the wind slowed for a second. Then another harsher and colder wind came upon him, taking tiny pieces of ice bouncing off his jacket and goggles, the tap-tap of each piece striking ringing in his ears. The cold, this time, seeped through his jacket and came upon him, causing a shiver. He looked up. Though the peak was covered in dark clouds, he knew he was not far; he will not back up now. And withstanding the cold, he continued as the unfeeling wind and cold continued to infiltrate his defenses. 

After some time, the sharp wind softened, and turned to a gentle breeze, picking up tiny pieces of snow and letting them sink back to the ground. The once sharp sounds of high winds were now gentle lullabies, comforting the land. The dark clouds, though, did not disappear. The climber, sensing the change, climbed faster, hoping to get to the top before the wind returned. But luck did not favor him; a second later, the wind returned, and along with it the snow which came falling from the dark clouds. He felt the wind—now a monster’s breath, as if the sky itself was trying to push him back as he edged on, inch by inch. 

Suddenly, a loud boom sounded in the air, a monster unleashed. Flashes of lightning crossed the sky and landed somewhere in the distance, as if the purest flash released from heaven. With it the land shook, and snow plundered down, the loud crashes resounding. Never has he held on so tightly than now, for now this was a battle, a battle between the unyielding man and the all-powerful sky; between the defiance of people and the edict of god. 

He attempted to push forward, yet found that he was nearly frozen in place, his limbs heavy as lead. The cold had crept through his nerves and his limbs had now sunk into the now deep and soft snow. All he could do was hold on. He looked up again, and he seemed to see the peak; it seemed so far, so distant, as if he would never reach it. On the peak, he thought saw a taunting face of a devil, grinning at him through the storm clouds and snow, its deep, shiny eyes filled with amusement and scorn, as if watching a disobedient pet. Through the snow and wind, the man stared up with determined eyes, his hands gripping as strong as ever. He let out a stiff smile before turning his eyes down to the ground ahead, and with pure strength of will, pulled his foot up another inch. Then, he pushed off with all his might, attempting to reach the top—there was no going back. 

And so he went! Through the unbearable cold, the sharp winds, the falling snow, the heavy clouds, defying fate and life. Though cracks appeared on his skin, though each step cost more life to seep away, though it seemed like the world was against him, he crept ever close to the top, to a miracle. 

Now, he was inside the dark clouds, which surrounded the tip, and the slope steepened as he went. Here, the wind seemed less strong, but more oppressing. All around were a dim, gray glim from the scant rays of lights which passed through the thick clouds. And he moved up, closer and closer. 

At one moment, a small opening appeared between the clouds, and a thin, sparse ray of light shone upon his face. He stopped and looked up, letting himself take a break, preparing for the final run. Everything seemed better—the clouds not as dark, the air not as thick, the wind not as sharp. He was going to make it! He looked down again, and started to climb again—even his feet felt lighter! 

Suddenly, a loud boom enough to deaf a man sounded above, and he looked up, his ears ringing, with horror as lightning arced across the sky upon the peak of the mountains above, shaking the ground violently. The snow and rock flew off from the top, and smashed into the snow not too far above him. 

Silence. 

For a second the rock and snow stayed in place, unmoving. 

The next second the snow and rocks came crashing down, bits and pieces smashing into him and burying him beneath tons of soft, fluffy snow. 

Silence. 

A soft, faint noise rustled beneath the snow. The snow bulged a bit, then sank back. 

Silence. 

A softer, fainter noise. Only a tiny lump this time.

Silence. 

As the bits and pieces of snow came to rest, the wind softened and the storm faded away, and the peak of the mountain stood alone again, as if nothing had changed.