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Scorched Tundra

The ice storm affected the streets.
Looking like a sheet of glass.
The frigid air burning to the touch
As soon as the air sinks into his skin.

Waking up in the morning,
All he could do was feel the frosty air scorch his nose.
The air had a taste of ice.

Walking to the bus stop,
With his little hat, boots, and Sponge Bob back pack,
The stone hard ice crashing down on the tree branches
And the ice shines from the sun reflecting on the road.
The solid surface with hidden water underneath ebbing at the speed of light.

The air smelled only of ice,
Choking him as it swirled into his body and down into his lungs.

While waiting for his bus,
He touched the ice slowly with his finger
And brought it back quickly
For he was afraid his finger would stick to the ice.

He fixed his glove back over his hand
Made sure his hat was on tight
And stood with his legs locked,
Waiting for his bus to come,
While hoping he didn’t fall on the icy inferno.





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