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Description
    It was proving more and more cold by the second, and then it just stopped.  Everything stopped.  I spotted a small glowing dot, and it augmented, even though we had momentarily slowed.

    As late as it was, we had forgotten we were following an active road.  As this strange brightness grew nearer, it became more and more apparent that it was the familiar glow of headlights.

    By the time this realization had come to me, I had my five seconds to move or be moved.  Just as a deer in headlights, I stood there, practically invisible, and awaited peril.

    “Jen, move out of the way.  Over here!” Chris and Sam pleaded with me.

    I was not allotted time to think, and in one steady leap, I moved.   The car missed by a close six feet.  I had hurled myself off the pavement and thinly missed it when I landed.  All I could manage after that was to pant and sob.  “I could have died…”

    Sam, without a word spoken, leapt onto to me and hugged me.

    “Yeah, you really could have…” Chris started in, a bit panicked, but truly more stunned.

    “I love you guys.  Please don’t let me do such stupid things.” I felt like slapping myself.

    Neither of them could find words as a long silence held, shelved in the rich blue sky.

    “Come along, it’s only getting colder…” I added in, trying to snap them back in.

    We had quite the unfortunate clothes for these conditions, but moving had at least kept us warmer.

    Continuing on in silence, we trotted up the hill, and the chill fell off of us in a shatteringly instant action.  It felt a little brighter, and I had recently escaped near-demise, so it was feeling pretty good to be alive.

    We hadn’t heard from Sean in hours, but it dragged on like days.  Questions flooded us all, though none of us would currently admit that we still feared every moving thing--that every rabbit that made a twig move or a leaf crack sent us jumping a little on the inside.  No one wants to admit when they’re afraid, and we sought to keep high morale.

    Those caught breaking silence, at this point, proved their weakness.  It was not of necessity.

    Sam turned to her right, and gasped.  She tapped Chris’ shoulder to point.

    Seeking to see what they found intriguing, I glanced, only to see the Chamberlain park entrance.  As not talking for this amount of time had been trying, I opened up with a sarcastic note of enthusiasm: “Good job, you managed to find the park again.”

    After that statement, I promptly apologized.   That seemed more appropriate than my rude voicing of a tired opinion.

    “Well at least she told us.” Chris fired back, drowsy and clearly not in the mood.

    “My bad, alright.  You know how I am.  I will put a sock in my mouth if it makes you feel better.” I offered, obviously more in kidding than seriousness.

    More calmly, and less mad, he came back around with “If that is what it takes.” and he yawned as a closing to the statement.

    Without another word, we decided to keep up our pace, because we were most of the way up Chamberlain by now.  Through all our fights and rambling, and fascination of the snow that had fallen, through all this, we hadn’t exactly remained calm, but at the very most and least, we had remained.

                                                ***

    Once we realized that there was yellow highlighting all the hillside houses, we remembered again the sun for which had abandoned us so many long hours ago.  Was the sun really rising, or were we so delusional that at the same moment, we vividly pictured the same long-awaited sunrise?

    We were all waiting on the other’s reactions, clearly, because every one of us managed to swallow down his tongue.  Looking to one another to seek approval, three nods followed this circular staring contest.  I sparked a grin and a laugh, knowing all and well that seriousness will never contain it all.  Complying with this thought, was Sam, as she could no longer contain the silent frustration.  Chris did not follow us into it, but it held no hilarity, it was a release of anxiety and now, more mild fear, and acceptance of what it were, rather; a short journey.

    He had a more silent, practical method and that gathered my respects.

    Purples smoothed up against oranges and yellows, and faded the very top to pink.  It was beautiful, and no one could do justice to this painting, as it was not of mortal fingers.

    We’d the time to gather our thoughts now, and all I could do was leave my mouth gaping in awe.  I could not bring the words to the surface of existence, but I believe that Sam put it best, labeling it nothing short of "Breathtaking”.  No words could touch this sky, and I was certain of that.

    Finally, we overlooked the cornfield at the top of the hill, re-welcoming ourselves to rural America.  The Sun, broken behind the golden, ready-to-harvest field, was deep yellow, eye-catching, and gave off an unmatchable haze.  You could not look at it, and yet one could not look away.

    Valuing my eyes, I finally had to break the stare.  Off in the not-so-distant future, there was the assurance of birds on the feeder, and my yard, and home, and my disturbingly bright room.  I went off to that place in my mind, and I was stoked to keep going again.  Home was so close that I could breathe it in.

    One of the few times you would ever catch it, Chris was somewhere else, too.  I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell, so I left it alone, referring to Sam, instead, who missed home even worse.  It would be longer for her return.

    Honestly, I don’t know how she’d kept her sanity without her sketchbook.  It is usually incorporated in most scenes of her life.  Yet and alas, she seemed to be pretty well off, so I let her alone as well.

    The sun had given off an energy and things were looking highly upward, but cruelly, joy was taken away again.  Spinning tires emerged from behind us and the tall grass.  The blades grew harshly flattened by the darkness that this man carried, and more prominently, the rubber wheels of his cherry-red ATV.

     He had hardened red face, weathered by the elements.  It was like fire, and his eyes, they were gray ashes.  Leathery hands matched his leathery voice as he spoke.  “I'll give sixty seconds.  Run, run like cowards, like pigs, like cattle.  I'll surrender my shotgun.  Go!” he boomed.

                                                       ***

    Without a word, we shot through the cornfield in split directions.  Chris could run, as could Sam, but I was cumbersome.  I was going to die trying.

    For those that have ran the cornfields, you know the danger of getting cut up, and the burning itch, but good and well, you never acknowledge what is not first-hand experience.  Water droplets collected across my front, and I gathered more than a kind accumulation of cuts, courtesy of the crisp leaves’ edges.  It was not as though I had time to think about it, but rather, my brain commanded I stop, and my feet were insubordinate.

    Hearing an inhuman cackling behind me, there was no chance to slow down, but due to years of idiocy and laziness, I could not pull forward.  Gravity saw to that.  There was a tree line in the distance somewhere; I’d passed it thousands of times in the car to visit my grandparents.  How far were those trees that I needed?

    I was overwhelmed by fear, not of my death, as I do not fear that at all anymore.  It was instead of how it would be taken by my family.  I began to worry about how expensive my funeral would be, and if they would really put a drawer under my coffin, just like I wanted..?  A drawer full of black and white scribbles that, by then, would be what I used to call writing.  My urging to play rock music at the viewing, and how I wanted to be buried late at night, in the dark, where I seemed most comfortable. Would they really bury me 8 feet down, if that was my very last request?  I pondered if they would carry out my final wishes, as disturbing as they were.  I was a bit selfish to request so much, I finally decided.

    Having gotten distracted with my thinking, it came to me.  If I had just run these things through my head, what were Sam and Chris thinking now?  Imagine, what would you place as your last thoughts, realistically?

    I was determined to live, because I did not want to put that burden off on everyone else.

    Clunk.

    My hearing heightened to notice that someone had fallen.  I cut across five rows of stalks, and walked slower and quieter, trying to stay unnoticeable and silent.  It was an attempt, mostly, not to rustle the leaves.  I looked, to confirm that my eyes were not deceivers, and saw Chris sprawled out on the ground.  Gently bending down, my eyes caught a large rock, mostly interred by rich soil, beneath his feet.  He had tripped, and that was for certain, as was made evident by the rock.

    “Chris..?” I whispered, uncertain of his consciousness.

    “Huh..?” he rasped, as his eyes came alive and he remembered he had to get up.

    “Oh, I’m so glad that you’re really alrigh-”

    “Now is not the time, Jen. Run!” He stressed.

    We picked up, and yet again ran in near-opposite directions.  Well, that was a fast moment… I began to say in my head as I was booking it for that tree line again, hoping it was not far.

     All I could hold onto was hope right now.

Description
    It was proving more and more cold by the second, and then it just stopped.  Everything stopped.  I spotted a small glowing dot, and it augmented, even though we had momentarily slowed.

    As late as it was, we had forgotten we were following an active road.  As this strange brightness grew nearer, it became more and more apparent that it was the familiar glow of headlights.

    By the time this realization had come to me, I had my five seconds to move or be moved.  Just as a deer in headlights, I stood there, practically invisible, and awaited peril.

    “Jen, move out of the way.  Over here!” Chris and Sam pleaded with me.

    I was not allotted time to think, and in one steady leap, I moved.   The car missed by a close six feet.  I had hurled myself off the pavement and thinly missed it when I landed.  All I could manage after that was to pant and sob.  “I could have died…”

    Sam, without a word spoken, leapt onto to me and hugged me.

    “Yeah, you really could have…” Chris started in, a bit panicked, but truly more stunned.

    “I love you guys.  Please don’t let me do such stupid things.” I felt like slapping myself.

    Neither of them could find words as a long silence held, shelved in the rich blue sky.

    “Come along, it’s only getting colder…” I added in, trying to snap them back in.

    We had quite the unfortunate clothes for these conditions, but moving had at least kept us warmer.

    Continuing on in silence, we trotted up the hill, and the chill fell off of us in a shatteringly instant action.  It felt a little brighter, and I had recently escaped near-demise, so it was feeling pretty good to be alive.

    We hadn’t heard from Sean in hours, but it dragged on like days.  Questions flooded us all, though none of us would currently admit that we still feared every moving thing--that every rabbit that made a twig move or a leaf crack sent us jumping a little on the inside.  No one wants to admit when they’re afraid, and we sought to keep high morale.

    Those caught breaking silence, at this point, proved their weakness.  It was not of necessity.

    Sam turned to her right, and gasped.  She tapped Chris’ shoulder to point.

    Seeking to see what they found intriguing, I glanced, only to see the Chamberlain park entrance.  As not talking for this amount of time had been trying, I opened up with a sarcastic note of enthusiasm: “Good job, you managed to find the park again.”

    After that statement, I promptly apologized.   That seemed more appropriate than my rude voicing of a tired opinion.

    “Well at least she told us.” Chris fired back, drowsy and clearly not in the mood.

    “My bad, alright.  You know how I am.  I will put a sock in my mouth if it makes you feel better.” I offered, obviously more in kidding than seriousness.

    More calmly, and less mad, he came back around with “If that is what it takes.” and he yawned as a closing to the statement.

    Without another word, we decided to keep up our pace, because we were most of the way up Chamberlain by now.  Through all our fights and rambling, and fascination of the snow that had fallen, through all this, we hadn’t exactly remained calm, but at the very most and least, we had remained.

                                                ***

    Once we realized that there was yellow highlighting all the hillside houses, we remembered again the sun for which had abandoned us so many long hours ago.  Was the sun really rising, or were we so delusional that at the same moment, we vividly pictured the same long-awaited sunrise?

    We were all waiting on the other’s reactions, clearly, because every one of us managed to swallow down his tongue.  Looking to one another to seek approval, three nods followed this circular staring contest.  I sparked a grin and a laugh, knowing all and well that seriousness will never contain it all.  Complying with this thought, was Sam, as she could no longer contain the silent frustration.  Chris did not follow us into it, but it held no hilarity, it was a release of anxiety and now, more mild fear, and acceptance of what it were, rather; a short journey.

    He had a more silent, practical method and that gathered my respects.

    Purples smoothed up against oranges and yellows, and faded the very top to pink.  It was beautiful, and no one could do justice to this painting, as it was not of mortal fingers.

    We’d the time to gather our thoughts now, and all I could do was leave my mouth gaping in awe.  I could not bring the words to the surface of existence, but I believe that Sam put it best, labeling it nothing short of "Breathtaking”.  No words could touch this sky, and I was certain of that.

    Finally, we overlooked the cornfield at the top of the hill, re-welcoming ourselves to rural America.  The Sun, broken behind the golden, ready-to-harvest field, was deep yellow, eye-catching, and gave off an unmatchable haze.  You could not look at it, and yet one could not look away.

    Valuing my eyes, I finally had to break the stare.  Off in the not-so-distant future, there was the assurance of birds on the feeder, and my yard, and home, and my disturbingly bright room.  I went off to that place in my mind, and I was stoked to keep going again.  Home was so close that I could breathe it in.

    One of the few times you would ever catch it, Chris was somewhere else, too.  I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell, so I left it alone, referring to Sam, instead, who missed home even worse.  It would be longer for her return.

    Honestly, I don’t know how she’d kept her sanity without her sketchbook.  It is usually incorporated in most scenes of her life.  Yet and alas, she seemed to be pretty well off, so I let her alone as well.

    The sun had given off an energy and things were looking highly upward, but cruelly, joy was taken away again.  Spinning tires emerged from behind us and the tall grass.  The blades grew harshly flattened by the darkness that this man carried, and more prominently, the rubber wheels of his cherry-red ATV.

     He had hardened red face, weathered by the elements.  It was like fire, and his eyes, they were gray ashes.  Leathery hands matched his leathery voice as he spoke.  “I'll give sixty seconds.  Run, run like cowards, like pigs, like cattle.  I'll surrender my shotgun.  Go!” he boomed.

                                                       ***

    Without a word, we shot through the cornfield in split directions.  Chris could run, as could Sam, but I was cumbersome.  I was going to die trying.

    For those that have ran the cornfields, you know the danger of getting cut up, and the burning itch, but good and well, you never acknowledge what is not first-hand experience.  Water droplets collected across my front, and I gathered more than a kind accumulation of cuts, courtesy of the crisp leaves’ edges.  It was not as though I had time to think about it, but rather, my brain commanded I stop, and my feet were insubordinate.

    Hearing an inhuman cackling behind me, there was no chance to slow down, but due to years of idiocy and laziness, I could not pull forward.  Gravity saw to that.  There was a tree line in the distance somewhere; I’d passed it thousands of times in the car to visit my grandparents.  How far were those trees that I needed?

    I was overwhelmed by fear, not of my death, as I do not fear that at all anymore.  It was instead of how it would be taken by my family.  I began to worry about how expensive my funeral would be, and if they would really put a drawer under my coffin, just like I wanted..?  A drawer full of black and white scribbles that, by then, would be what I used to call writing.  My urging to play rock music at the viewing, and how I wanted to be buried late at night, in the dark, where I seemed most comfortable. Would they really bury me 8 feet down, if that was my very last request?  I pondered if they would carry out my final wishes, as disturbing as they were.  I was a bit selfish to request so much, I finally decided.

    Having gotten distracted with my thinking, it came to me.  If I had just run these things through my head, what were Sam and Chris thinking now?  Imagine, what would you place as your last thoughts, realistically?

    I was determined to live, because I did not want to put that burden off on everyone else.

    Clunk.

    My hearing heightened to notice that someone had fallen.  I cut across five rows of stalks, and walked slower and quieter, trying to stay unnoticeable and silent.  It was an attempt, mostly, not to rustle the leaves.  I looked, to confirm that my eyes were not deceivers, and saw Chris sprawled out on the ground.  Gently bending down, my eyes caught a large rock, mostly interred by rich soil, beneath his feet.  He had tripped, and that was for certain, as was made evident by the rock.

    “Chris..?” I whispered, uncertain of his consciousness.

    “Huh..?” he rasped, as his eyes came alive and he remembered he had to get up.

    “Oh, I’m so glad that you’re really alrigh-”

    “Now is not the time, Jen. Run!” He stressed.

    We picked up, and yet again ran in near-opposite directions.  Well, that was a fast moment… I began to say in my head as I was booking it for that tree line again, hoping it was not far.

     All I could hold onto was hope right now.