A flash fiction piece that was originally published in Formation – A Collection of New Canadian Short Stories by Polar Express Publication in 2010 this was story was reprinted in 2016 as part of the Sudbury Ink – A Sudbury Writers’ Guild Anthology.
A rather short and dark piece that I was inspired to write while shoveling my driveway one winter.
You can read it below:
FROZEN
It’s been five years since we last fished this lake together, even longer since we caught anything.
My auger bites into the ice as I drill through the frozen surface. It must be a foot thick at this time of year, more than safe – at least in theory. We both know how reassuring that is when you’re the one in the water fighting for your life. The frigid water burning like an icy flame, the layers of winter clothing meant to protect you, pulling you under.
Some think I am crazy to return year after year. They’re the ones that whisper as I pass, pretending to know my pain. Others applaud my resolve to move past the tragedy, saying that you’d want it this way. Neither group understands.
My auger punches through the last layer of ice and into the hibernating lake below. I pull it free; a cold mixture of slush and water rushes forth, flooding the surface. I kneel in the snow, preparing my line. Looking into the darkness below I imagine that I see a flash of motion.
Some say it’s a miracle anyone survived. They think I don’t sense their bitterness, wishing it was me instead of you.
I jig for fish that will not come and try to reassure myself that lake is indifferent. That there was nothing I would have done differently on that day.
They recovered your snowmobile the next spring, your body they never found.
I know, because I hid it well.
