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Description
Winter in an Eastern Massachusetts suburb.  The snow, white as white can be, covers the yards, my neighbors' cars, and the trees.  Just looking outside, I can tell how cold it must be.  Maybe the river's frozen over!  Nothing like an early morning skate on a cool winter weekend.

I get out the hot chocolate so that when I get back I can heat it up quickly, bundle up in a blanket, and relax in front of the fire.  No matter how much fun skating is, it's always nice to return to the comfort of my home.  I pull snow pants on over my jeans, strap on my snow boots, and shrug on a nice, heavy coat.  I grab my skates by the laces and throw them over my shoulder.  I'm out the door.

I walk leisurely through my neighborhood towards the forest, all the while taking in the magical new atmosphere of the streets.  Just a few weeks ago, the yards were all dying grass and hastily raked leaves, but now the whole place has turned into an image out of a Christmas card.  That's the thing about New England in the winter.  The weather might get a bit crazy, and it might be too cold for some, but the colonial-era houses are the perfect setting for the quaintest snowstorm in the world.

I'm loath to leave behind the picturesque homes, but the forest doesn't disappoint.  It's wonderful.  The trail shoveled out by dutiful townsfolk is an icy slick, but to the sides of the path is snow deeper than my knees, so I brave the slippery slope.  The trees are filled with snow, and icicles hang from the more substantial branches.  Little rabbit tracks betray a wonderful life to the forest you couldn't imagine for all the cold.  You'd think the snow and ice would bring only death to the forest, but that couldn't be further from the truth.  The little rabbits and foxes and birds and voles keep on scurrying and flying and burrowing about, undisturbed by the harshness of winter.  Wouldn't it be nice to have fur like they do?  To not need to put on a coat and snow pants when going outside in the winter?  Yeah, it would.  But then, some animals hibernate even though they have fur.  They need to find a nice warm place just like me.  So it can't be that much of an advantage.  And in the summer, ugh.  That would get so hot.  That's why dogs pant so much, right?  Because they're overheating in all that fur?  I bet dogs with more fur pant more, since they're hotter than near-hairless ones like greyhounds.   I wonder if there's been a study about that.

Oh look, I'm here.  Just as I expected, the river has frozen over.   It's a beautiful sight to see.  There's no snow on the ice, most likely thanks to the crack team of ice skating enthusiasts down at the rec center.  The river is relatively straight and wide for what I can see, but I know it curves around farther down.  I bend down to wipe the snow off a fallen tree trunk, and sit down there to remove my snow boots and strap on my skates.  I'm on the ice.

The forest from where I am is superbly beautiful.  I am speeding past countless trees, the forest a blur of white all around me as my mind fills in the blanks.  The wind blows my hood off my head and my hair out behind me, and I can't help but laugh.  Snow starts falling lightly, filling my long dark hair with little white spots.

As I reach the first large bend in the river, I make a wide turn back to where I came.  I wouldn't want to get too lost, now would I?  I look down at the ice and see the little lines my skates left there.  Snow spits up behind me as the metal meets the fresh coating of snow deposited there recently.

I keep on skating in circles until I finally decide to return to that old tree trunk and leave.  I skate over to the edge of the river and hop onto the dead hunk of wood.  But as I undo the laces on my boots, I look up.  The river is so beautiful.  It's not just quaintly beautiful, either.  It's not simple and homey like the houses on my street.  It's older.  It's more wild.  It twists and turns through the forest like a majestic serpent.  It's massive.  It's massive and it's powerful and it's scary.

The wind blows over the expanse of white, howling subtly.  As if it's calling my name.
I pause.  I think of the hot chocolate out on the counter, ready to be prepared so I can relax by the warmth of the fire.  Shivering, I brush the snow off  my hair and put my hood on to shield my head from the cold.

The hot chocolate can wait.  I'm not a small furry mammal; I don't need to hibernate just yet.  The river is calling to me.  I retie my skates and glide back out onto the ice.
It feels different immediately.  The river really is big and I realize now how deep it must be in places.  I'm skating along in the middle, both sides several car lengths from me.  I feel odd, as if something is watching me.  I look all around, but that doesn't satisfy my paranoia.  I start skating in circles, debating whether I should return to my boots and head home.

My silver heels cut more lines, spit more snow.  It still feels like something is watching me, so I look all around again.  I look to my left, to my right, behind, in front again, and even up into the sky.  Nothing, so I look down.  I nearly scream.

There are cracks in the ice like long hair played out upon the ground.  I look farther down, right below my feet, and what I see takes the breath from my lungs.

It is a face.  And not just any face.  The tall, thin nose; the high cheekbones; the chin gently tapering to a small, blunt tip, giving the face an overall round shape.  It's me.

It's me.

Splitting sound like thunder.  It shakes me to the core.  I fall under the ice.  It's so cold.  It's so cold.  It is so cold it burns.

The thought crosses my mind that fur would be a really nice addition to my fragile body.

I had always thought that if the ice broke there would be a nice clean hole you could climb out of.  Not so.  The slab that broke off and flipped over underneath me falls loosely back into place, trapping me in the cold water.

I try to move through the water, but I can't bring myself to swim for the cold and the shock.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.  No no no no no.  This is something you always expect to happen to someone else.  But no.

It's me.

I find the strength to move to the loose slab of ice that fell out from under me.  I try pushing it out of the way.

I can't.

I'm trapped under the ice.

The blue glow of the sunlight through the frigid water fades slowly to black as I run out of air.

Description
Winter in an Eastern Massachusetts suburb.  The snow, white as white can be, covers the yards, my neighbors' cars, and the trees.  Just looking outside, I can tell how cold it must be.  Maybe the river's frozen over!  Nothing like an early morning skate on a cool winter weekend.

I get out the hot chocolate so that when I get back I can heat it up quickly, bundle up in a blanket, and relax in front of the fire.  No matter how much fun skating is, it's always nice to return to the comfort of my home.  I pull snow pants on over my jeans, strap on my snow boots, and shrug on a nice, heavy coat.  I grab my skates by the laces and throw them over my shoulder.  I'm out the door.

I walk leisurely through my neighborhood towards the forest, all the while taking in the magical new atmosphere of the streets.  Just a few weeks ago, the yards were all dying grass and hastily raked leaves, but now the whole place has turned into an image out of a Christmas card.  That's the thing about New England in the winter.  The weather might get a bit crazy, and it might be too cold for some, but the colonial-era houses are the perfect setting for the quaintest snowstorm in the world.

I'm loath to leave behind the picturesque homes, but the forest doesn't disappoint.  It's wonderful.  The trail shoveled out by dutiful townsfolk is an icy slick, but to the sides of the path is snow deeper than my knees, so I brave the slippery slope.  The trees are filled with snow, and icicles hang from the more substantial branches.  Little rabbit tracks betray a wonderful life to the forest you couldn't imagine for all the cold.  You'd think the snow and ice would bring only death to the forest, but that couldn't be further from the truth.  The little rabbits and foxes and birds and voles keep on scurrying and flying and burrowing about, undisturbed by the harshness of winter.  Wouldn't it be nice to have fur like they do?  To not need to put on a coat and snow pants when going outside in the winter?  Yeah, it would.  But then, some animals hibernate even though they have fur.  They need to find a nice warm place just like me.  So it can't be that much of an advantage.  And in the summer, ugh.  That would get so hot.  That's why dogs pant so much, right?  Because they're overheating in all that fur?  I bet dogs with more fur pant more, since they're hotter than near-hairless ones like greyhounds.   I wonder if there's been a study about that.

Oh look, I'm here.  Just as I expected, the river has frozen over.   It's a beautiful sight to see.  There's no snow on the ice, most likely thanks to the crack team of ice skating enthusiasts down at the rec center.  The river is relatively straight and wide for what I can see, but I know it curves around farther down.  I bend down to wipe the snow off a fallen tree trunk, and sit down there to remove my snow boots and strap on my skates.  I'm on the ice.

The forest from where I am is superbly beautiful.  I am speeding past countless trees, the forest a blur of white all around me as my mind fills in the blanks.  The wind blows my hood off my head and my hair out behind me, and I can't help but laugh.  Snow starts falling lightly, filling my long dark hair with little white spots.

As I reach the first large bend in the river, I make a wide turn back to where I came.  I wouldn't want to get too lost, now would I?  I look down at the ice and see the little lines my skates left there.  Snow spits up behind me as the metal meets the fresh coating of snow deposited there recently.

I keep on skating in circles until I finally decide to return to that old tree trunk and leave.  I skate over to the edge of the river and hop onto the dead hunk of wood.  But as I undo the laces on my boots, I look up.  The river is so beautiful.  It's not just quaintly beautiful, either.  It's not simple and homey like the houses on my street.  It's older.  It's more wild.  It twists and turns through the forest like a majestic serpent.  It's massive.  It's massive and it's powerful and it's scary.

The wind blows over the expanse of white, howling subtly.  As if it's calling my name.
I pause.  I think of the hot chocolate out on the counter, ready to be prepared so I can relax by the warmth of the fire.  Shivering, I brush the snow off  my hair and put my hood on to shield my head from the cold.

The hot chocolate can wait.  I'm not a small furry mammal; I don't need to hibernate just yet.  The river is calling to me.  I retie my skates and glide back out onto the ice.
It feels different immediately.  The river really is big and I realize now how deep it must be in places.  I'm skating along in the middle, both sides several car lengths from me.  I feel odd, as if something is watching me.  I look all around, but that doesn't satisfy my paranoia.  I start skating in circles, debating whether I should return to my boots and head home.

My silver heels cut more lines, spit more snow.  It still feels like something is watching me, so I look all around again.  I look to my left, to my right, behind, in front again, and even up into the sky.  Nothing, so I look down.  I nearly scream.

There are cracks in the ice like long hair played out upon the ground.  I look farther down, right below my feet, and what I see takes the breath from my lungs.

It is a face.  And not just any face.  The tall, thin nose; the high cheekbones; the chin gently tapering to a small, blunt tip, giving the face an overall round shape.  It's me.

It's me.

Splitting sound like thunder.  It shakes me to the core.  I fall under the ice.  It's so cold.  It's so cold.  It is so cold it burns.

The thought crosses my mind that fur would be a really nice addition to my fragile body.

I had always thought that if the ice broke there would be a nice clean hole you could climb out of.  Not so.  The slab that broke off and flipped over underneath me falls loosely back into place, trapping me in the cold water.

I try to move through the water, but I can't bring myself to swim for the cold and the shock.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.  No no no no no.  This is something you always expect to happen to someone else.  But no.

It's me.

I find the strength to move to the loose slab of ice that fell out from under me.  I try pushing it out of the way.

I can't.

I'm trapped under the ice.

The blue glow of the sunlight through the frigid water fades slowly to black as I run out of air.