The world is not ready for albums on microcassette
The world is not ready for albums on microcassette
Winter fluff #2: Farah is being incredibly normal about cookie decorating, and also about Tina. (Read on AO3 here.)
Farah clenches her hands at her side and stares out at the cookies splayed across Bergsberg’s police station. Her jaw is so tense it could crack walnuts. She’s been sitting outside for half an hour, psyching herself up, with no apparent benefit. “You can do this,” she mutters under her breath, nearly vibrating with tension. “They’re just cookies. You can do this.”
“Guess who!” says someone behind Farah, clapping their hands over Farah’s eyes, and Farah nearly stabs them on the spot. “Jeez, girl!” says Tina, dancing back. “Someone’s a little uptight. You know they’re just cookies, right?”
Farah takes a deep breath in, holds it for three counts, and breaths back out. Tina’s presence, as it always does, lightens some of her load; Tina whirls into rooms like a tornado, and Farah’s inevitably drawn to her carefree orbit. “Yes, of course,” she says, in a forced casual tone that still comes out military-clipped. “Um. Thank you for inviting me.”
“These cookies won’t decorate themselves, right?” says Tina, tossing a smile over her shoulder and, a second later, a tube of red icing. Farah catches it with one hand and stares at it as though it might explode (which, really, isn’t the least likely scenario, given the elevation of Bergsberg; Farah’s had more than one toothpaste explode already, and it’s perfectly reasonable to think the same thing might happen here).
“I have buttercream, too,” says Tina, “but we usually save that for last. Get the giveaways out of the way first. Um, let’s say… these three trays are all store-bought, and the rest can be buttercream. Deal?”
“Deal,” says Farah, nodding sharply as though she has any idea what buttercream is, or why one might save it at all. Just be normal, she tells herself sternly. They’re just cookies. Relax. It doesn’t help. ‘Relaxation’ is pretty far down on Farah’s list of talents, and forcing herself into it sort of defeats the point.
Tina turns the station radio to Christmas music (Farah bites back a question about whether the police station radio should stay on the police station channel) and starts to hum along. Her back is to Farah, her hair tumbling out of her baseball cap; she’s stuck reindeer ears on top, and the bells jingle as she bounces to the song. A lump catches in Farah’s throat, and she quickly turns towards one of the store-bought-approved trays. She is being normal. She is not making this weird. She is not going to admit that she stopped by the grocery store three times in the last twelve hours, and she currently has eight potential thanks-for-the-invite gifts stashed in her trunk.
The blank faces of the gingerbread men stare accusingly upwards. Farah gulps. ‘Art’ is also not one of her talents. She casts around for a beginner cookie and lands on candy canes. She can do candy canes. ‘Drawing straight lines’ is one of her talents. She pulls out a chair, legs screeching on the floor, and gets to work.
(Read the rest here!)
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AN: SO AFTER A LONG TIME, i finally managed, almost gave up on it but here it is! Hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Four: here
Soundtrack: In Jest or Earnest
@mylovelycrazyworld @nonsensicalobsessions @kcd15 @too-much-fandoms-oof @cherrygeek86 @terry-perry @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids @thatweirdwalangpake @midnight-queen-1 @devilbat @damalseer @tomshelbystits @wolfsmom1 @acrossyourneck @littlefrogstuff @wild-rose-35 @kingtwhiddleston @pearlstiare @briarrose26
Ernest stood at the end of the hallway, his little sister was sleeping so he had nothing to do. He wanted to read for her but there was something happening, he stood there and watched his father emerging from the bedroom along with the doctor who came to visit them. Ernest didn't know what was happening, maybe his mother had a cold again. She always sounded so odd when her nose was all stuffy, like a completely different person. Ernest smiled at the thought of that, his smile quickly faded however. His father's body was trembling, the boy didn't think it was that cold today. Neither his father nor Ernest himself was wearing a coat today, winter was on its way however. Was it getting colder already? He couldn't tell, Ernest hid behind the chest of drawers that stood in the hallway. The doctor seemed rather glum, perhaps he needed to see another doctor. Did doctors go to the doctor when they were sick? Ernest rubbed his nose.
''Are you sure?''
His father's voice was very quiet, he sounded as if he were whispering. Was it a secret?
''I'm sorry Mr. Sharpe, there's nothing I can do for her.''
Nothing? Was his mother not sick then? If one wasn't sick the doctor wouldn't need to give them any medicine which was good, Ernest hated medicine. Sometimes it tasted very bad, he doesn't like being sick but his favourite part was staying in bed. His mother would read for him, whatever book he wanted. Father would bring him toast sometimes, Ernest loved jam on toast. It tasted so much nicer when the bread was hot and crunchy, not burnt though. Burnt toast tasted horrible, maybe his mother would like some toast. It makes Ernest feel much better. His father suddenly looked at him, he's been spotted standing behind the chest of drawers it seems.
The doctor nods before walking away, he probably had so many house calls to make as winter draws closer. Must be awful having to ride all the way out here, Ernest likes horses but they could be a bit scary. So tall, Ernest was certain he could ride one soon though. His father held out his hand, a smile on his face. It was confusing, something felt off. Ernest hesitates at first but manages to make his way over to his father, taking his hand. It felt warm, a little sweaty but maybe that was because he was in the workshop earlier. He didn't come out for a while, Ernest ate breakfast with Vera and aunt Lucille this morning. It felt a bit lonely without mother there.
''Your mother would like to see you...''
Ernest smiled, maybe mother would like to see Adelaide too.
Ernest missed his mother, more than anyone no doubt. His father didn't seem all to bothered about it these days even though he cried a lot in the beginning, Ernest didn't cry in front of anyone. What good would that do? He had to take care of Adelaide since his mother was gone, he couldn't just ignore her. He didn't want her to hate him, it didn't feel right. Ernest loved Adelaide a lot, she looked a lot like mother now that he thought about it. She'll no doubt be just as pretty, mother would've loved to brush her hair and dress her up but now Ernest had to do that. His father does it when Ernest doesn't wake up early enough, he felt guilty sometimes. Adelaide shakes her little silver rattle around, creating a great racket. Ernest hissed back at her.
''Be quiet Addie, he'll hear you!''
Adelaide only grunts back, at least she stopped shaking that rattle around. It used to be his but now it was hers, their father bought it with the little money he had left. Their family wasn't the wealthiest but at least granddad Jackson helps, he likes to send their father money once a month even though their father doesn't like that. He keeps telling granddad to keep it but Ernest didn't see anything wrong with it, it was good to have money right? They could fix the plumbing for once, perhaps get more heaters. It could get dreadfully cold in Allerdale sometimes, most times really. Ernest pushed aside a few tins, he needed something sturdy to step on in order to reach for the black treacle. He needed to take it further, Ernest picked up the small wood crate that sat in the corner of the pantry. Setting it down under the shelves and stepping up, his arms outstretched towards the tin. His father must've told the cook to place some things higher up, suppose Ernest shouldn't be surprised. He was actively trying to sabotage his plans, he didn't want her around. Ernest finally managed to get a grip on the tinned treacle, the outside was all sorts of sticky. He didn't like the feeling but that was sort of the idea, no one liked getting sticky treacle all over their things. He smiled at the can as he brought it down from the shelf, this would definitely get her to leave. They didn't need a nanny, he didn't need anyone, he could look after himself.
''What are you up to lad?''
He was quick to turn, hiding the tinned treacle behind his back. He couldn't tell if some of the treacle that coated the outside was touching his coat, hopefully not but he had to make some sacrifices in order to get a job done. Just like his father, he's gone through three pairs of shoes now and it hasn't even been a year. He did like to use the leather for other things though.
The cook stood there, his great big arms crossed. Ernest wondered what he used to do for a living before coming to Allerdale Hall to cook for them. He liked to believe that the cook used to be a criminal or perhaps a sailor, he did say that he came from Liverpool. Ernest didn't quite understand his accent at times but it was fascinating to listen to, once you've talked to him for a while you start understanding him better. He looked strong, definitely big. A bit scary but Ernest felt better knowing that he never came upstairs, he always stayed down here with Vera. He liked Vera a lot, Ernest swore that the cook was in love with Vera. They seemed to get on very well, maybe they'll get married one day. Father wouldn't mind, perhaps it would be good.
''You're standing in my pantry...''
Ernest leaned over to the left to check on his sister who still sat in her highchair in the kitchen, shaking her rattle again. He asked her to be quiet but he knew better than to trust her to not play with the toy, he couldn't stay mad at her either. Adelaide was still just a baby in Ernest's eyes, his father kept trying to remind Ernest to let Addie walk about on her own but she didn't really like to. Adelaide preferred to be carried around, she also never spoke. Ernest knew she could, she has talked to him before. He wasn't sure why she wouldn't talk when their father was around but she didn't say much, Ernest was confident that she was just waiting for the right time. Maybe it takes a while, he didn't really know how small children worked. All he remembered was that Adelaide used to drool a lot, she still does a little bit but not nearly as much as she used to.
''I wanted a biscuit.''
Not a complete lie, Ernest did wonder if they had any biscuits left in the pantry. He could've use those instead of the dried up piece of bread he stuffed into his pocket for what he had planned, he'll make do. Bread crumbs were just as bad, he gave the cook a stiff smile.
''We don't have any today.''
Ernest only nods.
''It would seem so! I should get back to my studies!''
He quickly passed the cook who took a step into the pantry to inspect it no doubt, Ernest was quick to shove the tinned treacle into his coat pocket. He would regret that later when Vera would eventually wash his clothes, perhaps she won't say anything about it. He hurries over to where his baby sister sat, picking her up before leaving the kitchen. He had things to do, he should put Adelaide down for a small nap so he could get things done.
Ernest didn't want her here, he didn't want Mary or anyone else here. He didn't trust them, the last one tried to hug him. He had enough of nannies, he didn't need anyone to take care of him or Adelaide. Ernest could do it on his own, he's been taking care of her since she was born. Father didn't need to help, he understood that he had a lot of things to do. He was an inventor, of course he had more important things to do that to take care of Adelaide. Ernest stared at Mary's dresser, armed with a paintbrush he had swiped from the workshop while his father wasn't in there. Treacle dripping off the bristles and onto the floor, the floorboards looked as if they were oozing. Mary wasn't welcome, he didn't like her or the way she would always try to talk to him. She made his father laugh, Ernest didn't believe Mary to be as nice as his father claimed her to be. He didn't like all these strangers coming and going, moving into his home and teaching him things he didn't need to know. Who needed to know the history of fishing? What good could that possibly do him in the future? Ernest hated reading history books, they were so boring. He liked adventure stories, like Alice's adventures in Wonderland. Though that story only brought bitter memories, it was still his favourite. It didn't feel the same, reading it himself.
Ernest wasn't exactly sure why but he felt so angry, confused. Just seeing Mary in his mother's reading room made him want to shout at her, she touched Ernest's and his father's photo but she didn't hide it or break it like Ernest waited for her to do. He had put his mother's photo on the ground to see what Mary would do, being a goody two shoes as per usual. She was soft, smiled too much. She hasn't been angry with him yet, he wondered why. Why didn't she shout at him for filling her shoe with butter or smearing the seat with jam? He had ruined her dress and his aunt lent her a new one, Mary was not only living in Ernest's home but also wearing his family's clothes. His father might even let her go and pick things out of his mother's closet, just thinking about it made his heart sting. His chest felt so sore, he wanted it to go away. Ernest began painting the drawer handles with the dark treacle, she wouldn't be able to open any of them without getting that mess all over her hands. He sniffled, angrily flicking the treacle all over the side of the dresser. There was something about this woman that made him so upset, the way she spoke to him and the way she always smiled at everyone. He didn't like it, he hated it.
''I hate you!''
There was no room for her or anyone else here, Ernest already had his father and his aunt Lucille. Vera was here as well with the cook, this was all he needed. He had Adelaide, they didn't need Mary. They didn't need a nanny, not now; not ever. Ernest flung the brush at the wall, pulling one of the drawers open and pouring the treacle in. The drawer contained all of Mary's stockings, he didn't care anymore. Ernest felt so tired, he had seen so many nannies and every single one of them was horrible. Why wasn't Mary like them? Why couldn't she stop smiling? He watched the thick treacle pouring out of the tin, her stockings were completely soaked. This ought to get her to go away, she'd yell at him, call him a little monster and then she'd run. Far away from here, she'd never come back and his father will stop hiring nannies. Ernest didn't need a new mother, he only ever had the one and that was it. He hated them all, all of them. He threw the mostly emptied out tin of treacle into the corner, his chest heaving. Ernest quickly turns, reaching for his coat pocket. The dry and stale bit of bread he had taken was next, hurrying over to Mary's bed he pulled up the covers. Crushing up the miserable excuse for a bread, it was so hard that it completely crumbled away as he squeezed it. He spread the crumbs around the mattress, half rubbing the piece of bread all over it. So hard that it poked a little hole, she deserved it for being so nice. Ernest was convinced it was all an act, he didn't know what her plan was but he wasn't having it. He would get rid of her once and for all, she'd scream at him and his father would disapprove. Ernest lips trembled, his eyes watering at his actions. Now was not the time, he refused to cry. He'd never cry again, it hurt too much.
''Just go away-''
Ernest noticed the picture frame on her nightstand, he saw a man sitting in an armchair. He didn't recognise him, he clearly wasn't a part of the Sharpe family unless he was a distant relative that Ernest hadn't heard about before. No, this picture frame must belong to Mary. He rearranged the bedding, making the woman's bed to hide the crumbs. It'll be an uncomfortable night for her, no one liked crumbs in their bed. Ernest turned his attention back to the photo, picking it up to examine it. The man seemed tired, he was smiling a little bit. Mary would be mad for sure if he hid it from her, Ernest tucked the photo under his arm. Today is the day she would finally break, she'll be gone for good. Never to return, he sniffled.
He stood in the foyer with Mary's picture frame in his hands, she wouldn't leave him alone. She kept finding him, following him in order to get him to read the books. Ernest didn't need to read books, he wanted to learn from his father. His father was a smart man, he could teach him how to make machines and about the world but he was too busy for that. Ernest felt alone, he felt so very little. Smaller than he had ever felt before, it was like he had turned into a grain of rice. Insignificant, like he didn't matter anymore. Ever since his father started hiring new people, it got worse. Ernest didn't like Mary because she made his father laugh, only mother could do that. The thought of his lovely mother now, it made it worse. He only got angrier thinking about her.
''Ernest, there you are- I've been looking for you-''
Ernest shook his head, he wasn't going back into the library to read some stupid book on some stupid war. He hated it, all of it. Ernest hated this house, he hated Mary, he hated all the books and all the wars. He didn't want any of it, none of it. Mary flinches as he stomps his foot down.
Mary didn't get angry about the dresser, she didn't get mad at him over the stockings. Why didn't she hate him? She should hate him for ruining her things, she wasn't angry about the crumbs in her bed either. Ernest felt he had failed, his face was turning red. Why couldn't she just yell at him like all the other women? The ones his father hired to teach him things? They had all screamed in his face and told him to go to his room, why didn't Mary do so too? He wanted her to be mad, Ernest wanted his father to catch her yelling at him. He'd be so cross with her.
''I said go away! Why won't you go away!?''
Ernest began wishing for her to disappear, hoping she'd vanish by the time he woke up the next day. He didn't like how Adelaide would allow Mary to hold her, she shouldn't touch her. Adelaide was still a baby, Mary could drop her. Ernest didn't trust anyone but himself to take care of her, mother said he should look after her and so he did. His mother told him to always love her and to make sure Adelaide is good, that's all he was doing. He was her brother, he had to. His eyes water as Mary takes a few steps towards him, he backs away from her. Now stood in the middle of the cold foyer, snow falling from the hole in the roof. It was so cold, too cold.
''I just want to talk-''
''I hate you! Go away!''
The boy's face on the verge of turning from red to purple, he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't like misbehaving, his father always said that rotten boys get rotten toys. That being bad was wrong and that he shouldn't be so angry, he couldn't help it. Just looking at her made him feel so sad, so mad and scared. He was scared, Ernest didn't want her here. He flung the photo frame with all of his strength into the floor, watching as it shattered upon impact. The glass everywhere, the delicate frame now in pieces as it splintered against the hard floor. He wouldn't cry for anyone ever again, he needed Mary to go away now. His chest heaves, there was something so satisfying about breaking the frame. Staring at it, the photo of the man covered in broken bits of glass. Ernest let out a deep breath, look over to Mary who only stared down at the floor. She was going to get angry now, Ernest knew she would give up eventually.
''Ernest William Sharpe!''
He was startled by the his father's voice, he hasn't addressed him by his full name in quite a while. His father only did that when he was angry, Ernest knew his father didn't like being angry. What was more interesting was that he wasn't angry with Mary, like Ernest thought he would be.
''Mary, I'm so sorry!''
Ernest stares at Mary's face, tears streaming down her cheeks. Why was she crying? So silently, without a word. There was something happening deep in Ernest's chest, it felt uncomfortable. He felt colder, as if he had been standing outside in the snow. He didn't like this, Mary crying made him feel uncomfortable. Why? Why was she crying and not yelling at him? Why can't she just be like everyone else and get angry? Mary's gave both Ernest and his father a stiff smile, it looked wooden. She wasn't happy but she wasn't mad either, stop crying. Please, stop.
''I think I'll turn in early, have a good night Mr. Sharpe.''
Mary didn't bother picking her broken photo frame up, neither did she take the photo itself. Ernest felt as if someone had hollowed him out and yet somehow he still felt too full, he was confused. Why was she crying? What was there for her to cry about? Mary should've been angry, she should've scolded him and called him a string of words that weren't nice. His father should've walked in on her screaming her head off and then fired her for behaving that way.
''What on earth has gotten into you?!''
Ernest's father gripped his shoulder, harshly turning him around. He was afraid, why was he being scolded by him? Why was his father so angry? Ernest knew that destroying things that aren't his is rude but he had to, surely his father could realise that? Of course he wouldn't, he didn't see it. No one saw it, no one ever saw anything. He looked back at the shards of glass, watching the flakes of snow land on them, turning to droplets almost immediately. Looking at the frame made it hurt even more, his eyes began warming up. There was this pain in his throat, why did he want to cry? He shouldn't cry, he wanted her gone. Ernest promised to never cry for anyone again, he said so to Adelaide. His sister can vouch for him, he promised he wouldn't cry.
''I want you to clean this mess up and apologise to Miss Clarke.''
Vera could clean it up, why should he? Ernest shakes his head, trying to pull himself away from his father. He's never been this angry with him before, why now? His father groans.
Ernest's whole body shook as his father points at the stairs, his face contorted. He looked scary, he remembered seeing him shouting at grandfather Bartholomew last Christmas. He was so angry with him but he couldn't tell as to why and now he is angry again. It hurts so bad.
''Go to your room!''
Banishment, Ernest was shocked. He had never been told to go to his room before, this felt like imprisonment. His father stomps his feet, pushing him towards the stairs.
Ernest had cut his hand on one of the little shards of glass, he wasn't entirely sure if it had been worth the hassle but he managed to clean it all up. Staring down at the photograph that had no frame, it was folded. He hadn't anticipated much from examining the man who lived in Mary's photo frame but curiosity got him. Curiosity and the lack of sleep, he couldn't make the feelings go away. Suppose he should name those feelings guilt, that is what he was feeling after all right? Ernest unfolded the photograph only to find that the man wasn't alone, there was someone else standing next to his arm chair. A young girl, Mary. A much younger Mary, Ernest's heart clenched. This photo clearly meant a lot to her and he destroyed the frame as if it were nothing, he hoped that she'd disappear. Take her stupid frame with her and never come back but she only cried, silently. She didn't say anything, she didn't shout or go red in the face. Mary just quietly wept in front of him, Ernest had made some of the other ones cry before but this time it was different. She didn't look angry as she cried, she looked sad. It reminded him a lot of his father the few days following his mother's funeral, the day Ernest vowed to never cry again. He folded the photo back up, turning it around. His father ordered him to apologise but even if he did, what would even happen? Mary might still leave, that is if she isn't already gone. Ernest wasn't good at apologising, in truth he didn't want to. He'd have to look at her, he didn't want to.
Ernest didn't have to, he knew he didn't have to but his father insisted. His father was no doubt still in his study, asleep or spending time with Adelaide. Ernest snuck out of his room, the picture and the glass was still on the ground where he left it earlier. He placed the folded up photo down, pressing it down so he could put the backing paper back onto the gold frame. Ernest wasn't sure if the frame was made of real gold but it looked like it was, he fastened it tightly. Giving Mary's photo a new frame to live in, it won't do much but at least he managed to replace it. Grabbed the frame, leaving his mother's reading room behind. He had to deliver it, his heart was pounding. She could yell at him now, suppose Ernest deserved that. His steps echo in the dark, travelling down the hallway. It seemed to stretch out with each step, he hadn't done this before. Apologised for something horrible he had done, he hadn't ever been this way before. There was so much he wanted to do but those things were impossible now, his mother gone. It was almost as if she never existed, Ernest's father rarely ever mentioned her. Ernest wasn't allowed in his father's and mother's bedroom anymore, he managed to nick one of his mother's old shawls for Adelaide. She deserved to have something of hers, even if it was just a ratty old piece of fabric. Their mother had worn that shawl almost every day, it was her favourite one.
Just like how this picture must've been Mary's favourite, he knew she didn't bring much.
Ernest stood outside her door, his chest heaving. His breath turned to fog in the cold air, the house would only get worse after midnight. He knocked, a part of him hoped that he could've simply slid the frame under the door but the frame was too big. There was no answer, he could see light coming from under the door so he opened it himself. Allowing the door itself to slowly open, the creaking of it made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Ghostly, as much as he loved his home it could be quite scary sometimes. His mother said that she wouldn't let any ghosts or monsters get him. So far there hadn't been any monsters or ghosts, not yet.
Mary was there, awake. Sat in the little chair by the fireplace. Her eyes a little red, possibly from earlier. Perhaps she was still crying, her voice was quiet and rather hoarse. Ernest didn't realise how much this had hurt her, he wished that she had been angry with him instead so he didn't have to feel this way but instead she only cried. No yelling, no reprimands, just sorrow. Disappointment, the look on her face told him that she was not angry with him but that her hope in him had diminished. Mary turned to look at him, her eyes caught the golden picture frame. Ernest didn't know what to do, how does one apologise? Clearly he should say that he is sorry but would she even accept that as an apology? Ernest shuffled over to the chair, setting the frame down on her covered lap and stepping back. There wasn't much he could say other than that he was sorry and leave it at that but even finding the words was hard. His quilt still stuck in his heart and his apology in his throat, he looks down at his shoes. He could see that some of that dark treacle had left some stains on the floor, a couple of droplets left behind. He had done all of that to her belongings as well, so not only had he broken something that meant so much to her but also vandalised her room. Ernest didn't feel pride this time around, only guilt.
Before Mary had the chance to speak he turned and ran out of the room, he hoped that the replacement frame was good enough. He'll have to find another one for his mother's picture, he could build her photo a new one.
Wa ]: that moment when u spend the whole afternoon cleaning h-
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So, I decided to write something based on a prompt that @releasing-my-insanity had. Here it is. By the way, 20 degrees Fahrenheit is equal to - 6.6 degrees Celsius. Enjoy!
Snowball fight "What are you two up to?" Mrs Hall asked curiously from her spot by the stove. James and Tristan were bundled up in their winter coats, gloves, scarves, and boots. They were almost out the door when Mrs Hall had stopped them with the question. They looked at each other and then back at Mrs Hall. Tristan replied, excitedly, "We are going to have some fun in the snow." The snowflakes were drifting out of the sky, dusting the town in powdery fluff. It had been snowing all night and it was still going then, just after breakfast the following morning. Mrs Hall hesitated for a moment, looking out the window into the yard. She finally said, "Oh, go on. As long as you have all your work done." The boys cheered and Tristan walked quickly outside. James, however, stayed for a moment and asked, "Mrs Hall, would you join us outside for a while?" Mrs Hall thought for a moment before answering, "Alright. Only for a few minutes, though. Just let me finish cleaning up." James smiled and went to join Tristan in the yard. It was the end of the week. The practice had gotten no new calls and the surgery wouldn't start for another two hours. Everyone was taking advantage of their free time. Mrs Hall was just finishing as Siegfried walked into the kitchen. He asked, "Mrs Hall, where are James and Tristan?" She responded, "They went out back to do who knows what in the snow. You should join them. It will be fun. And you haven't been outside at all after running the surgery all week." Siegfried sighed. "Fine. I do have some time." He went and got all his things on and made his way outside. In the back of the house there was a small concrete yard which was mainly used to store the box haul and the rover. At this time, both cars were in the front of the house, so the yard was empty. There was about six inches of snow now. It had been snowing around the constant rate of one centimeter per hour. The snow itself was perfect for building things and making snowballs. Siegfried stepped outside, closed the door behind him, and shivered. It must have been at least 20 degrees Fahrenheit* outside. It was the first snow and the coldest day of the season so far. Siegfried sighed and walked away from the door. He soon turned the corner that led him to the main area of the yard. There, he found James and Tristan throwing snowballs at each other. He asked them, "Don't you have anything better to do?" James and Tristan stopped and looked at each other. "No, not really," Tristan responded. And then they resumed their game. Then, Siegfried heard the kitchen door shut from a ways behind him. He turned around to see Mrs Hall smiling as she walked towards him and put on her gloves. It always warmed his heart to see her, but a warm heart wouldn't help his frozen fingers, toes, and nose. She came up to him and gave him a pat on the shoulder. He asked her, "Why are you out here? Wouldn't you rather be in the house?" She chuckled and said, "I would prefer to spend more time with you all. Even if it is out in the freezing cold." She paused. "Now, if you don't mind, I am going to join them for a little snowball fight, " She walked off to join the boys. Siegfried was left to stand alone in the cold and watch the others play around. He wasn't normally one to participate in things like that. He called to the others, "I'm going inside." Tristan asked, "Come on, big brother. Can't you stay a little longer?" Siegfried sighed. "No. There are quite a few things that I still need to do anyway." Siegfried replied and turned around to start walking back to the house. Almost as soon as he turned around, someone hit him with a snowball in the back of the head. He was shocked and said, "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!" He was even more shocked when he turned around again and saw that it was Mrs Hall who threw it. His cheeks suddenly got much warmer and his face turned a dark shade of red. If he would have known that it was her, he wouldn't have yelled at her. He thought she would be upset, but instead she just laughed. He couldn't
help but smile. This time it was him who made a snowball and threw it at Tristan. And they continued messing around for about half an hour before they needed to get to work for the day. The End.
Chase is in London UK 🇬🇧❤️