Scratch, scratch, scratch.
The sharp sound echoes into the still, all-encompassing dark. A small inhale of breath, the white, milky form of steam rises into the air. Rubber meets ice once more.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
The girl hadn’t planned for the early cold, dressing in a simple t-shirt and pants, helpless against the morning wind.
Her motions are hurried and less graceful due to the gripping cold. Sneakers slide against the frigid ground, shuffling and shifting on wobbly toes in her fruitless attempt to try to amplify her height.
Crack. The chime of plastic on the ground. Thump. Then quiet. Groan.
The squeak of a door. A small crackle of laughter. The heavy beat of footsteps.
A shadow falls over her fallen figure, broad but relaxed, and the girl recognizes his figure. Sigh, an embarrassed exhale of warm breath. Carefully, the figure reaches for the girl’s arms. There’s a slight tug, shuffling feet, then a misstep. A screech of shoes sliding against ice.
A shout, a crash of something heavy against the ground. Silence. Another louder groan.
Then, a snicker. An inhale of shaky breath. An explosion of laughter erupts into the still-dark morning, piercing the once-silent surroundings. Thunk, thunk, thunk. The sound of a fist and feet meeting stone.
A small chuckle escapes the larger figure, two puffs of steam collecting in the air, and a small harmony settles over the two unlucky souls. Somehow, the morning seems to get a little bit warmer.
There’s a stretch of silence. Then the sounds of cloth against skin as one figure rises, reaching out his hand and extending it towards the girl.
There’s an exchange of whispers. The sound of something being picked up against the ground.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Rubber meeting against ice once more.
However, instead of the rushed, untempered tone of the girl’s, motion frantic shuffling, it is a slow, controlled swipe. Wide, long brushes against the retreating clusters of frost.
The click of a door, the start of an engine, the roar of a motor. A triumphant yell. A connecting of hands. A loud shooing.
The crunch of leather against asphalt, the ca-chunk of a door lock, and light spilled out into the air, meeting the fleeting light escaping down the driveway.
The scratch, scratch, scratch sweeps one more time, then it’s gone.
Now, the only sound of rubber against ice is the one retreating down the driveway. Into the fading morning, dark and free—for now—from the incoming frost.
