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Written by: Hannah Luther

Inspired by Prompt #2

           The cold nipped at my cheeks, stinging my flesh. Using the back of my sleeve, I scratched my frozen nose and pulled my jacket higher to cover my exposed neck. Breathing through gritted teeth, I allowed myself to peek over the fence. Even in this weather, sweat stung my eyes and I wiped them gruffly before blinking, hard and fast, to get a better look.

            Nothing. Though I doubted my senses could be trusted, considering the circumstances.

            I slammed myself against the dirt, my back scraping against the wood. My hair stuck to my skin, and I did my best to calm my breathing. Light, uneven breaths through the nose, shakily out through the mouth. When that got too loud, I covered my mouth with my hand, struggling to suck in the oxygen through my stuffed nostrils.

            When my legs shook—partly from the cold and partly from running—I chanced another glance. Something resembling courage, or maybe stupidity, surged through me and made me feel bold.

            Again, nothing.

            I looked left and right, waiting to see legs, or boots, something resembling my pursuer. I could already picture his boots, pointed at the tip; his jeans with dirt caking the hems. For a moment, I held my breath, using the silence to concentrate on my hearing.

            How far did I run?

            When I couldn’t hold it anymore, I controlled my breathing and closed my eyes. Then I heard it and my eyes snapped open. A loose rock being kicked, the shuffle of feet, the sniffle of a nose as cold as mine.

            I moved my body closer to the fence, feeling my heart rate increase, pounding against my chest, sore from breathing in the cold weather.

            “I’m gonna get you,” the voice said.

            My hand jumped to my quivering mouth.

            The voice repeated, closer, “I’m gonna get you.”

            Something caught in my throat, and I did my best to inhale and exhale through my nose.

            “Boo!”

            I screamed, looking up at the face, which emitted a squeal of glee. My hand moved to my chest, attempting to keep my heart in its place. “Billy! You about scared me to death.”

            In a plethora of snorts and giggles, my son stood on the wood of the fence, climbing up to the top. “Your turn, Mama.”

            I picked him up from under his arms, swinging him around so fast his little cowboy hat flew off his head. “Oh, my sweet boy, Mama is too tired to play anymore hide-and-seek.”

            He wrapped his arms around my neck, sighing. “Aw, Mama, but I’m not tired yet.”

            “Well,” I exhaled a laugh. “I sure am. What was that, our tenth game? I don’t know how much more I can take in this cold.”

            He slid out of my grasp, his boots hitting the ground. “I’m not even cold!”

            I grabbed his cheeks, smooching them loudly. Sure enough, even with the cool temperatures, they were warm on my lips. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go inside. Daddy’s waiting for us.”

            Billy ran over and grabbed his hat, slapping it on his head. Then he took my hand, purposely kicking at any loose rock or clump of dirt he came across. His small hand was moist with sweat but his little fingers were ice cold, and I made a mental note to make sure he wore gloves next time.

            Because I knew there would be a next time. There would always be a next time, for as long as he wanted one. I knew there would come a day when he would outgrow these games, when he would tire of chasing me around our little farm. There would be a day when he would seek things outside of the perimeters of these fences, wanting to be anywhere but here, while I hid behind the windows, waiting for him to come home.

            I dreamed of him, long before he was ever born eight years ago, and will always treasure these beautiful—exhausting, absolutely exhausting—days. No matter how out of shape I was, and how much I hated running, I would keep chasing him, fearing the days when he would stop asking.

            “Mama, can I have a cookie?” he asked, oblivious to my tired, wandering thoughts.

            I picked him up, rubbing my sweaty face against his as he squealed. “Of course, my sweet boy.”

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Hannah Luther earned her BFA in Creative Writing with a minor in Literature from Stephen F. Austin State University and now works as a freelance editor from home with her husband and two dogs. Her work has appeared in Harness Magazine, Gingerbread House Literary Magazine, CEO Literary Magazine, and more. You can follow Hannah’s work here.