Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • White. It’s the color of snow. The snow that keeps falling and can’t subside. You put your hand on the glass, tears dripping off of your cheeks. The tears kept coming, like the snow. It fell softly, it fell hard. Sometimes it came big, and sometimes it came small. After all, it never stopped. The frost had already taken most of your family. Your mother. She was gone now. The vase she gifted you was still placed neatly behind your couch beside your window.
    It would be the first thing gone. The frost would slither up the sides and leave small, wispy paintings along the now faded yellow hue. Your mother gave it to you to remind you of the sunset, beautiful art that nature gifted to you. Something now covered by the dark gray clouds as they dropped snow down onto the landscape.
    The snow ruined the green colors of the grass and left it to a dull gray color. It’s like the snow had magically sucked the color out of nature and stored it deep away to where nobody can find it. You felt that if you lodged your hand into the snow, that it would come out green. You cannot just bring the color back with just your hand. Something fierce and full of spirit. A spirit not even the cold depths of winter could shatter.
    Taking out your lighter you walk outside, and light the flame it creates. The snowflakes circled around the flame, trying to escape its grasp of death. Your eyes widen as the snow screams to get away from the burning spirit. You let the flame blaze. You watch as it can crack Winter like a hammer on glass. How did you not think of this before? Your tears stopped flowing. Everything paused except the flame.
    You finally let the flame burn out, and the snow started to come harder. It’s like you’ve angered something. Something deep into the storm. Wind whistled around your ears as it howled at you for trying to kill a small fraction of it. You start padding back inside when you see the frost coming closer. It’s crawling up a tree and devouring the leaves. How did the leaves stand? Well it was Summer when it came. The frost created a whole new plant. It was an icey plant with no need for photosynthesis anymore. It fed off of the cold now. You feel bad for taking away its energy. It would die without it. Except you. You would die because of it.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.