The Frost Scouts

“DON’T TOUCH THEM.”

My shout startles her. “Seriously Jon…You almost gave me a heart attack. “

“I said don’t touch them, don’t even go near them,” I repeat.

“Them? It’s frost for God’s sake. Stop with your alien attack theories. You’re upsetting mom.” She’s pleading now.

“They are scouts for the Frost-giants,” I whisper, “for winter is coming.”

I see worry reflected in her eyes, worry and disbelief.

She takes a step forward as if to brush them off, when I make a lunge for her and push her away. They don’t believe me; they think I’m going crazy, I’ve heard the hushed conversations with the doctors. But it is what it is and there is only one way to convince her. I place my hand on the bark.

Her expression shifts from confusion to fear to horror as the frost scouts scurry up my arms and start entering my pores. It’s getting cold now, so cold that I’m losing sensation. I hear her scream. Then I know no more.

 

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Written for Sunday Photo Fiction