Frist ice

First ice

It was a cold December morning in the city of Stalingrad. The town clock struck eight and cracked the ice in contact with the metal. As the cold Russian hammer hit the icy bell to awaken the frozen city, a lonely woman was the first person to walk in the silence after the eighth strike.

Every step she took she made a quiet crunching as her feet sank into the snow. She continued to walk to the phone booth to make a phone call. One of the sleeves of the fluffy white coat rose gently up to the handle of the phone and out popped a warm hand, as she touched the frozen handle the ice started to melt. The door was frozen so she had to give the door an almighty pull to get it open. As she pulled it, bits of ice fell from the door frame.

The door only opened half way it was stuck; she had to slide through the little gap to get into the phone booth. When she finally slid through, she slowly closed the half opened door and turned around. She pulled her fluffy coat tighter to keep herself warm. Quietly she crept over to the corner where the freezing cold plastic phone was. Eventually she started to enter the numbers into the cold metal buttons of the phone. Every time she pressed a number her finger was getting colder and colder. Slowly she put the cold phone to her warm ...

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Every window was white and wet with condensation, she tried to clear it with her coat sleeve but it kept coming back a white misted windows, eventually someone on the other line answered the phone and spoke a quiet “Hello,” and she replied a quiet cold “hello” as well. She asked about what had happened in London and asked who was hurt or killed in the London bombings and the man replied “32 dead and 7 injured”. She asked the man could he go down the list of dead bodies and he replied yes of course, he went down the list of names, at first she didn’t recognise the names he was saying till he spoke the name “Ivan”, she replied Ivan Pojoaque?, yes Ivan Pojoaque! She felt she was heart broken inside. The strength of her hand faded away from sadness, slowly the phone started to slip out of her hand. Eventually dropped it and hit the frozen window, she felt that her love life had had blown away in the cold Russian wind.

She sat down in the phone booth and covered herself in her fluffy coat and started to cry as she did a warm tear slowly trickled down the warm make up face; the Tears made her make up all smudged but she was too upset to notice it, she tried to wipe it off but it just made it worst, after a few hours she had the strength to get up from the phone booth slowly she slid back through the door out into the cold wind, she walked back to her house and slowly closed the door and didn’t come out for the rest of the day.

By Edward Dyer