The snow child: Creative writing paper
There once was a young couple that lived in the coldest part of Yakutat, Alaska. No older than thirty; they naively picked one of the coldest, smallest and most secluded cities in the large continent. It had a small population, and limited visitors, but it was right by the coast so it was popular for it’s sales in fish. They lived in a large cabin near the ocean surrounded by nothing but knee high banks of snow and the unknown.
The smell of fish oil and tardar sauce seemed to surround the area, but it was somewhere they could always call home. One morning in late February, the husband Akiak woke up early to stoke their witling fire and begin cutting wood for the long winter day ahead. The cold air flushed the life out of his body as he gently lifted the covers exposing himself to the temperature. The clock read four thirty but his body felt otherwise. He was especially tired today which was unusual for such a hard worker.
“Ay, sleeping for another half an hour won’t hurt anyone.” Akiak sighed pulling the warm wool covers back over himself and huddling next to his wife, Shatiya.
“Oy,” Groaned Shatiya feeling her husband’s presence. Hours passed quickly as Akiak and
Shatiya slept soundly. Once the sun had risen and the clock read seven forty, there was a loud knock at the door awakening Shatiya almost immediately. Her poor husband looked so comfortable laying next to her, she didn’t have the heart to wake him up too. She agreed to tend to the duty of greeting company herself. She quietly slipped out of bed and threw a robe over her thick plaid pajamas.
“Ey?” She asked impolitely acquainted a large man holding a bag and a small slip of paper in his gloved mit.
“Telegram for Akiak Bol” The large man nearly growled.
“Quiet! My husband is resting!” She shushed him as she grabbed the letter out of his hand. “Good day savage,” She shut the door calmly in his face. She couldn’t stand the idiocy of others. Patience was
never a virtue, why
The smell of fish oil and tardar sauce seemed to surround the area, but it was somewhere they could always call home. One morning in late February, the husband Akiak woke up early to stoke their witling fire and begin cutting wood for the long winter day ahead. The cold air flushed the life out of his body as he gently lifted the covers exposing himself to the temperature. The clock read four thirty but his body felt otherwise. He was especially tired today which was unusual for such a hard worker.
“Ay, sleeping for another half an hour won’t hurt anyone.” Akiak sighed pulling the warm wool covers back over himself and huddling next to his wife, Shatiya.
“Oy,” Groaned Shatiya feeling her husband’s presence. Hours passed quickly as Akiak and
Shatiya slept soundly. Once the sun had risen and the clock read seven forty, there was a loud knock at the door awakening Shatiya almost immediately. Her poor husband looked so comfortable laying next to her, she didn’t have the heart to wake him up too. She agreed to tend to the duty of greeting company herself. She quietly slipped out of bed and threw a robe over her thick plaid pajamas.
“Ey?” She asked impolitely acquainted a large man holding a bag and a small slip of paper in his gloved mit.
“Telegram for Akiak Bol” The large man nearly growled.
“Quiet! My husband is resting!” She shushed him as she grabbed the letter out of his hand. “Good day savage,” She shut the door calmly in his face. She couldn’t stand the idiocy of others. Patience was
never a virtue, why