But first, an introduction. This is an as-yet title-less short story I started writing before Christmas. It is coming along very slowly, but focuses on characters based around myself and my housemate, Sam. I will post every 500 ish words as I write them so you can connect the story together as I go. Enjoy.
A frosty sheen had made slick the paving stones by the river on my way home from a long, boring shift. It was getting late, but at this time of year it had already been dark for hours and cold for hours more. I trudged delicately along the streets, unconsciously taking each step, absent-mindedly avoiding the odd person along the way. As I got closer to home, the ground caught my attention. Funny, the frost seems denser here. More of a sparkle to it. I rounded the corner onto our street and frowned. About half a kilometre ahead was our house. And about fifty meters above it was a large, swirling white cloud depositing sheets of snow on everything nearby. Bloody hell Sam... I quickened my pace, pulling my jacket closer as I stepped into the blizzard.
Fumbling to turn my key in the frozen lock, I eventually barged through the front door and trampled through the house to the back yard. I paused for a second to take Sam in. Standing at approximately five feet eleven inches and wearing a thick purple robe which billowed out on the ground around him. His hands were both raised upwards, his right clasping a long wooden stick, and he was shouting at nothing in particular amid the flurry of wind and snow. I strode up to him and smacked him across the back of the head. He toppled forwards and the cloud of snow dropped as though each flake had suddenly turned to lead. I brushed the dusting off my jacket as Sam leapt to his feet in a flurry of white, which would have looked a lot more impressive if he hadn’t then promptly fallen over again. He sat staring up at me from a small snowdrift.
"What was that for?"
"Dressing like a twit and attempting to control weather patterns."
"Really?"
"That, and you still haven’t done your washing up."
"Ah. Right. Yes well they’re all fair points I suppose." Sam slowly rose to his feet, treading carefully back into the house. I followed, resting my hat and gloves on the radiator as we walked past. Sam went round the corner to his own room. I heard him sit down hard on the bed and then a soft thump as he pulled of one show after the other.
"Cold outside?" he enquired from the other room.
"No thanks to you," I said coyly, he laughed. "Cuppa?"
"Go on then."
"Go on then."
I flicked on the kettle and pulled two large mugs out of the cupboard. I smiled briefly, reflecting on how most people would find this situation absurd. For us, this was pretty tame. Last week I opened the pantry to hunt for a snack and ended up releasing twelve live chickens into the house. Sam had forgotten to mention them, or how they got into the pantry. I scowled at him as we rounded them up and put them into the Box.
"Chickens, Sam? Why? More importantly, how?"
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