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View Full Version : A Cold Day in Hell (pt.1 - 1,840 words, Adult Language)



BurntMason84
March 9th, 2015, 10:16 AM
This is the beginning of my work in progress that I started back Prose - Fiction, General Fiction area. Hope you enjoy it and please let me know of any mistakes you see or improvements you would make! Thanks!

Despite the turbulence wracking the plane to and fro, Jason Freidrich remained fast asleep in his cozy, little seat against the left portion of the plane. Even though his head rested against the wall, right near the frigid window, and the vibrations were beginning to worsen, he did not stir. As a matter of fact, the drool seeping from a corner of his mouth was a testament of how tired he actually was, and would not be awoken from his much needed beauty rest.

Almost as if the winds outside took offense to the lone man not taking their efforts seriously, a gale suddenly ripped across and around the fuselage of the plane. The pilot upfront uttered various curses as he tried to maintain control and began to correct his flight path. The instance the wind struck the plane, the force was enough to slightly send Jason's head slowly ebbing away from it's perch on the wall from the g-forces of the aircraft, which dropped slightly and veered left.

Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the winds vanished their bombardment of the plane, surprising the pilot who was just fueling his fight with a variety of colorful words. Though the pilot was experience, he wasn't quite quick enough to reassess the situation, and over corrected in turn. Jason's head, which had been bobbing in midair in the slightest fashion, fell with quickness and force back into the same spot it had been resting in the first place. Since that spot was located near a window, it was horrible luck for his head that it was more reinforced than much of the surrounding wall. Instead of what could have been quiet thump, his skull resounded against the plane with an overtly loud crack.

Jason snapped awake and sat straight up in his chair. Had anyone taken notice, they would seen a sight to behold. The left portion of his face appeared to have a deep scar which was a perfectly straight line, though it wasn't a scar at all, but instead a deep impression of the window seal. Had Jason also maintained a completely shaven head, which he didn't, they would also have been in awe of a red spot which would've been seemingly growing under his skin and bulging, which is where, consequently, his head met with the plane in such an abrupt fashion. Finally, the drool which had been ebbing slowly from his mouth was not sprawled across his beard and face from his sudden action of smacking his head and sitting up.

He didn't feel the pain, instead his head was swimming with confusion as to what woke him up, why his head was slowly throbbing at the moment, and why was his face wet. As he wiped his face with his left hand, he grew more confused because it moisturized his face even further, instead of removing the liquid in the first place. He squinted as he pulled his hand away, his eyes still trying to adjust to the light. Finally, he saw the slime dripping between his fingers and realized that it was his own saliva. As he realized this, his brain finally registered that it should be feeling severe pain where a gnarly bruise was forming. Once it kicked in, Jason couldn't help but put his drivel ridden hand on his head in instinct. As soon as he felt the hair rustle between his fingers, he sighed out loud in complete abandonment.

He reached for a napkin, he had put into the seat pocket in front of him earlier to begin wiping himself down. After a few moments of digging around, he realized it wasn't there where he had put it. He leaned forward and opened the pocket a bit, just to reassure himself that he wasn't suffering confusion set on by a concussion, as he was still confused to what had happened in the first place. As he leaned over, he saw that the napkin had fallen to the floor and had made its way towards the passenger seat in front him. He debated for a moment whether or not to see if contortion was worth getting the little beverage napkin, then decided that he needed quite a bit more than four by four by four inch piece of cloth to clean himself up.

Jason unbuckled himself from his seat and stood up to enter the aisle. No one had taken notice of his appearance, which put him at ease as his saving grace. However, as he turned to go up to the lone bathroom towards the rear of the small plane, the stewards stepped out behind the curtain with their drink carton. He stood there with a dumbfounded look stricken across his face, as he was now on display for most of his fellow travelers who directed their attention to who had stood up suddenly and why. As they were way towards the back of the plane, Jason would have to wait until they passed to begin to sort himself out.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered to himself as he felt the drool plastered across his face finally decided to give in to gravities wiling. Jason fell back into his seat, shaking his head. "Worst, fucking, flight, ever." he concluded with himself. He saw his pillow had somehow sank between the wall and the seat, despite the fact that there was only a half an inch of space between the armrest and wall alone. He gave up on being courteous, and grabbed the pillow with an immense grasp, concluding that it would be wedged in tightly and yanked suddenly with all his might. To his surprise, it hadn't been as stuck as he had imagined, and the force of his hands slammed into the seat in front of him. At that instant he froze, thinking he just slugged the passenger's seat in front of himself. Then it dawned on him that the seat had been empty the whole flight. He let out a breath of relief, and began to wipe his hand and face off on the pillows fabric.

He discarded the pillow onto the floor to keep the lone napkin company just in time for the drink cart to come by him. The stewardess helped the people across from him first, then turned her attention to Jason. She had a forged smile splayed across her face, which turned into a frown for the first time during the whole flight. "Sir, are you ok?" she inquired, failing to hide the sudden concern towards Jason's face as he still had a deep indentation which looked like a scar and the red lump on his head was visibly bulging his hair outward and starting to creep down his forehead past his hairline.

"I'm peachy, thanks. I'd just like a cup full to the brim with ice, actually two cups if you can, and a rum and coke separately in another glass." Jason uttered, issuing forth a smile which took all of his will and might at that moment. He wasn't a fan of overly helpful people. In all actuality, he wasn't a fan of people at all, especially when his head felt like a stampede of water buffalo had run over it.

"I'm sorry sir," she uttered in sincerity, which dripped with to much emotion, thought Jason. "We're all out of alcohol, but I do have the ice." She began to scoop the little drink cups in a bucket of ice to help appease the fact that they didn't have what the customer wanted. Despite being a little to strong with her greetings, she genuinely cared about her customers. She just didn't know Jason only cared about alcohol only at this juncture.

Jason sighed, "Well how about just the Coke then, minus the rum?"

"I'm sorry, we're all out of colas too." she replied as she sat the cups of ice in front of him.

Jason couldn't believe that all of this is what he had woken up too. A sore head, disheveled appearance, and what appeared to be a Morman airline with no alcohol or caffeine in sight so far. "Do you have at lease some ginger ale?" he shrugged as he asked.

"We do! Let me grab it for you really quick, sir!" The stewardess was far more excited than anyone had a right to be serving refreshments on a second rate airline. Jason couldn't help but compare her to a cow in a book he had once read. It was a science fiction, and the part in question was when a genetically modified cow, which could speak, would come to customers at a restaurant floating in space and describe portions of it's body which were best to consume, all with unending joy.

She sat another small cup filled with ginger ale and the remaining portion in the accompanying can on his tray table. As she walked away, Jason felt he could finally relax and tipped his chair back a little. For a moment, he felt completely and utterly serene, as though everything was going to be alright from that point forward. He reached for his cup of ginger ale when another bout of turbulence struck the plane suddenly. While the cup didn't move, being set into a cradle in the tray, the ginger ale went along with the momentum out of the cup, soaking Jason's hand and the napkin under the can, and slowly dripping onto his pants underneath the tray.

"Really?" Jason asked out loud, wiping his hands on the seat in front of him. He looked up and pushed the button to signal the stewards. Instead of ringing or lighting up, it turned on the reading light above him. He tried a couple more times, which only succeeded to turn the light on and off. He figured to himself that the wires must be crossed, and consequently pushed the reading light button. It turned the light on and off too, which he tried both lights frantically until he was nearly pounding at the ceiling above him with wanton savagery.

Finally, the same stewardess came rushing back up to him. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stop striking the ceiling." she said in sweet, non-condescending, high pitched voice which grated on Jason's nerves.

"I'm sorry, but the soda spilled and I need some more napkins." Jason managed to reply through gritted teeth.

"Not a problem sir," and without hesitation, she pulled out a slew of napkins and sat them on Jason's tray. "All you have to do is hit the service button above you next time, sir!" she giggled out loud as she walked away before Jason could protest about the switches not working. He gave up and instead grabbed the napkins. All of the were sopping wet to the touch, as the stewardess had put them square in the puddle of ginger ale which was still on his tray table. Jason just looked at the mess in disbelief.

"Worst... fucking... flight. Ever."

BurntMason84
March 18th, 2015, 07:53 AM
The speaker system crackled to life and the pilot came on to inform his travelers that they’d be arriving in Anchorage shortly, and further requested that everyone remain in their seat while they approached. After a short pause, he began to regale the uninterested travelers of the weather conditions, in case anyone failed to look out the window or perhaps suffered from blindness.

Jason finished cleaning himself as best he could and put his tray up, letting the residual soda seep into the pocket under where the tray table folded into the seat in front of him. He turned and opened the shade to see just how bad it was outside. The plane shuddered for a second and started its descent, offering a slight reduction in g-force which set off the anxiety of other passengers. Jason peeked out of the window and saw nothing but grey wisps of clouds and a blanket of water droplets careening across the glass.

Suddenly, the clouds gave way as the plane dropped below their altitude, and gave way to a black ocean below. The rain on the water coupled with the waves flailing about gave the mass of water an angry feel, agitated for some unknown reason. The white crests of waves broke up the oily waters below, as though they were hissing at the plane as it passed overhead.

Just as quickly, Jason saw land as they began their final descent. The scenery wasn’t much better than the vivacious waters behind them. With the lack of sun beating on the grounds below, the ice and snow even gave a greying appearance. What little color that he saw was dull oranges and reds. While he was sure that any other day, the fall colors would look miraculous, this day they just appeared little more than lifeless husks, dripping more with foreboding than awe.

The tarmac appeared underneath, and Jason sat back into his seat, awaiting the jolt of the wheels touching ground. To his surprise, he felt the weight of the plane touch down on the runway, without so much as a tremble. Despite the rest of the flight wracked with turbulence, the pilot obviously was graceful in his skill set. The brakes engaged and the flaps extended to slow the plane, and they were taxied into the gate for their departure.
Jason sat in his seat once the travelers were given the okay to exit. Not only because he was a big man, but more because he couldn’t stand the mind state every traveler seemed to get once they landed somewhere. People pushing and shoving as though the plane was filled with noxious gas, or maybe a prize was waiting at the end and the first 20 people off got a slice of cheesecake. Let the sheep stumble and trip their way off, he thought to himself, it was only a five minute wait, worst case scenario.

As the last of the passengers made their way towards the front of the plane, Jason took his sunglasses off and stood to reach his bag in the overhead compartment. When he turned to face the compartment above, though, he happened to see one passenger was in the back still. A little old lady, no more than just over five foot tall, was struggling to reach the overhead compartment latch, let alone her bag inside. Jason glanced forward and aft and saw no one in sight, except for a lone stewardess towards the nose of the plane, offering semi-sincere goodbyes to remaining departures. Whatever good Samaritan had helped the lady get her back up there in the first place was long gone. Feeling somewhat bad for the lady, he grabbed his bag from overhead and put it into a nearby seat, then walked down the aisle to help her.

The elderly woman, stubborn in her ways, kept making a valiant, if not fruitless, effort to reach the latch for the compartment. She had no idea what she’d do once she got it open, but she’d figure it out eventually. So focused on reaching her bag, she failed to notice Jason’s approach until his shadow had loomed over her. Turning to face what she assumed was a helpful soul, she then gawked at the sight before her, then letting out a sound which might have been mistaken for a mouse being stepped on.

Jason was by the by, a large man. He stood just less than six and a half feet, and was burly to boot. A thick, yet intricately trimmed beard lined his jaw. However, despite such a large presence, most could not miss the eight inch scar that ran over his right eye, from his middle of his forehead, across his eye socket, and disappearing into the beard below. However, should someone miss the vivid scar, they could not miss the appearance of his eye that it ran through. The iris was a silver hue, nearly white and blending into the rest of eye, and his pupil looked similar to that of a star exploding; a dark center as expected but jutting out suddenly in various directions, as though it was being pulled apart by a number of hooks and chains.

“Do you need some help?” Jason asked, not at all missing the surprise and fear spreading across her face. It didn’t faze him at all any longer, people’s reactions to his face. In fact, he enjoyed it sometimes, as most of the time he never wanted to socialize with ingrates anyhow.

The old woman mustered a feeble nod, and took a few steps backwards to move out of the way and create distance between herself and this beast in front of her. Being formerly of a wealthy family from a bygone era, she now meandered her way each day on a bit of social security and her dead husband’s pension. Though she hadn’t been a part of the social elite club for nearly 30 years, she still expected that riffraff were well below her. She definitely didn’t expect to be cornered by riffraff who may want her luggage.

Jason reached up and opened the compartment, and grabbed the lone bag inside. Surprised by how large it was and how much it weighed, he could only think that the only way she got this on board as a carry-on was by making a carryon at the gate, stating that the stewards were discriminating against an elderly widow, or something of the like. Seeing it had an extendable handle to pull the bag along the ground, he stretched the handle out as he sat the bag down, and stepped aside into the side, bowing not out of respect, but because that was the only way he could duck into the seats in the first place.

Still locked onto his scar and eye, the lady’s comprehension of manners and etiquette had fled her. She hadn’t even noticed that her bag was readied in front of her. After a few moments, Jason rolled his eyes and motioned to the bag, showing that his patience had begun to run dry. She snapped back into reality, and huffed at his rude gesture, oblivious of her own actions the whole time. As if to remark back rudely himself, Jason jumped back into the aisle as she passed him, surprising her and send her into a jog towards the front of the plane. He watched as she stumbled into seats and caught both her bag in tow and her purse on arm rests as she passed. Looking over her shoulder to see if the main was chasing her, she ran square into the stewardess who was still waiting for the old lady and Jason to get off the plane. She got herself up, grabbed her bag and dashed out of the airplane. “You’re welcome!” Jason shouted back, smirking as he went and grabbed his own bag.

He grabbed his bag and walked up to help the stewardess to her feet. He couldn’t help but hear her utter “Stupid old bitch” as she took his hand. “Thank…” she trailed off, as she stared into the exploding start that was Jason’s eye. However, she wasn’t taken aback, but instead lost in wonderment of how it appeared. Again, it still did not bother Jason, though the stewardess was quite shapely under her pressed and trimmed uniform. Something about redheads always got him stirring too.

“She’s got to be more careful, she could’ve damaged the priceless cargo on this plane still.” Jason couldn’t help but smile at his cheesy pass. The stewardess came too and took in the man with the horrible pickup lines, and couldn’t help but smile too. Despite the scar, here stood a bear of man, well groomed and chiseled neck and jawline. She could only fathom what lay below his pea coat and jeans.

After a few moments, he offered a nod and walked off the plane. Realizing that she hadn’t replied, and probably just kept smiling at him like an idle minded idiot, her mind raced to think of something witty to say back before he left. She ran up and leaned around the corner, yelling “I’m just lucky she didn’t jump your bones!”

Jason stopped for a second, and turned back towards the stewardess as his eyebrows arched in confusion. It dawned on her what she just said, and how horribly dumb it sounded, and flushed red with embarrassment. At that moment, she could have died and felt better about that.

Jason, just laughing to himself, retorted, “Well, maybe next time you can be around to stop her, just in case.” He realized that the lines were just getting worst, but couldn’t help the smile. He hadn’t flirted, or poorly flirted at least, in quite a while.

The stewardess giggled and shook her head, unbelieving of how they were both acting. With that, Jason waved back at her and just ended it from going any further by saying “I’ll see you ‘round!” He turned back and continued up the ramp. Maybe it wasn’t the worse flight ever, he thought to himself as he entered the terminal.

Most of the other passengers he rode with were already gone, and the airport was void of much life except for a couple of layovers passed out on random chairs and one cleaning person slowly vacuuming the floors. Outside the terminals windows, the sky was beginning to blacken. Jason glanced at his watch which stated it was a quarter to five, which seemed early for it to begin to look so dark outside. Then again, this was Alaska, home of the sunless winters, and that winter was almost upon them.

He strode down to baggage claim and snagged his old Army duffel, swinging it over his shoulder. Walking outside, he saw the rain had lulled a bit, becoming nothing more than a puttering over the area. A line of taxis were all in a row, waiting for their lucky chance that a passenger happened to need their services instead of being picked up pesky by a friend or family member.

Jason grabbed the first taxi and told him to go head to the Holiday Hotel. Street lamps flickered to life as the sky began to turn black while the sun sat behind the dull grey blanket of clouds overhead. As they drove through Anchorage, the streets seemed barren and sullen, as though the town were abandoned. Jason half expected to see zombies stumbling about at any second.

As the taxi pulled up to its destination, Jason couldn’t help but look at the hotel with disappointment. It looked more like a military compound at home jutting above the shacks of an impoverished nation ruled by their warlike dictator. As if to put punctuation to its already questionable demeanor, there was a dilapidated “For Sale” sign hanging askew from a long post, the realty company being barely legible from wear, signaling it had been for sale for quite some time.

After paying the driver his fee, Jason walked towards the building. There was no front door, just an unpainted, concrete wall with small, blocky windows which appeared more like vents than actual panes. Walking around the building, he found the “front” was actually facing the alley behind the street. Walking in, he was struck with a pungent smell that he could only figure was the culmination of human waste coupled with burnt animal of an unusual origin. The fluorescent fixture cast a seedy glow about the foyer, which was a sickly sea foam green color. The desk was made more of patches than original wood, and a rusty bell sat alone on its top. It was all too reminiscent of a b-rated horror film, Jason laughed to himself. Still, he rang the bell as he was too tired to care, Bates motel or not.

BurntMason84
March 23rd, 2015, 10:55 PM
After a few moments, there was no answer. The rusted bell sat alone atop the counter, waiting for its master’s call which never came. Jason waited a little bit than rang the bell again, smacking the ringer a few times for good measure. Still, no answer came. Finally, exhausted and annoyed beyond care, Jason grabbed the whole bell and slammed it down repeatedly on the counter in a flurry of smashes. The pin on top of the bell stung each time and fueled his anger to hit harder. Finally, someone took notice.


“What? What?!” came a shout from the back, and an old man came out. His skin was dark, leathery and wrinkled, showing more signs of an outdoors man than a rundown hotel owner. Some of his teeth were missing, his hair was greying, and he had scabs dotting whatever skin was visible, some of them freshly opened. He squinted, either because his eyesight was bad or just because he woke up from a hangover, though Jason suspected the latter from the reek of alcohol emanating from him.


“I need a room for a few days.” Jason stated. He wasn’t in any shape for small talk as exhaustion finally settled upon him like a ton of bricks off a skyscraper. He began to pull out his wallet.


The old caretaker looked at him up and down, and spotted his scarred eye. Jason caught his stare and watched the man squint more as if he were suspicious. This took Jason aback, not because of the old booze hound’s gaze at his scar, but because he wasn’t sure how the man could squint any more than he already had. He didn’t know if he could even see at this point.


“You gonna be trouble?” the old man inquired. Suddenly, the old man had an air about him that Jason glimpsed at. His question didn’t really pose suspicion as it posed curiosity. While at first glance, Jason had seen an old, rundown and out native, on second look the old native had scars under his scabs and boils. Scars from gunshots and knifes. The gentleman had seen a thing or two in his day, if not been a part of it.


Jason looked over the old man once more, who was still waiting for an answer. “Why? Are you asking me out on a date?” Jason replied, gauging his reaction.


The older man didn’t flinch, still eying Jason as though looking for an answer to a question that was never asked. “No.” was his simple reply.


“Then no, I’m not gonna be trouble.” Jason hated slur, slang and being inarticulate in general. To him, it showed signs of weakness, stupidity, and someone willing to take shortcuts and easy routes. The way people spoke showed a lot of who they really were deep down inside, but that had been his job after all. Really finding who people were, then grabbing hold of that and twisting it into a bloody mess.


The old man looked him up and down once more, then laughed. “Alright, tough guy. All I got is our suite,” the old man tried to do a quotation mark this his fingers, though his arthritis barely let him move them, though he still laughed at it. “Eighty bucks a night.”


Jason handed him a MasterCard, and the old man just stared at it for a second then said, “Cash only.” Jason shrugged, and pulled out one hundred and sixty dollars in twenties. “Two nights?” the old native asked?


“Two nights,” Jason confirmed with him. “Might need more later.”


“Not a problem, tough guy. You just let ol’ Billy here know,” the old man thumbed towards himself, “and I’ll give you the Hilton package!” He laughed at his own joke again and turned around to grab a key.


Jason took the key he offered, a simple, generic key that was attached to a raw, unfinished piece of leather that had a very crude ‘3’ etched into. It was still pliable, as though whatever animal it had been skinned from was barely decomposing at this point. Jason began to have second thoughts about the place; he was tired, but if the key chain alone was a reflection of what the room might be like, Jason wondered if he really had been that tired to not look for a least some sort of hostel instead.


“Welcome to Alaska, tough guy!” Billy cackled as walked away, waving him off, leaving Jason just looking at the animal hide in his hand and the beaming fluorescent lights humming quietly.


** *** **


The sun shone through a crack in the drapes that hung. In the calm morning air, the dust drifted through its beams in a serene, undisturbed fashion. Outside, a wind howled through the small village. While brisk and strong, no gusts shuddered the small huts and shacks that dotted the makeshift roads in between. The only thing that stirred within the little house was a single eye moving to and fro, watching the dust as it danced through the air like ballet dancers to a melancholy sonnet.


Finally, the other eye opened and their owner turned in bed, flopping on her back. She stared at the ceiling of the shack and listened to the wind outside. She hated sunny days. Not because she was nocturnal or because she was brooding, she hated them for the icy cold. Clear days made for the coldest, then when they were coupled with any sort of wind, even just a breeze, they became downright miserable if you were to be outside. The door slammed open and in strode a hulking figure.



“Rise and shine, my little curaq.” The gentleman said, pulling his hood off and unraveling his scarf. His skin had wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, but not because of the sun, but more because off too much smoke and laughing.


“Blueberry?” asked woman asked as she sat up slightly in bed.



“What?” he had stopped undressing from his winter gear, confused at the response. Was he supposed to have gotten some and forgot, he thought to himself.



She brought herself upright and swung her legs out of bed and onto the cold floor. She squealed aloud and recoiled from the cold. No matter how long she was out there, she had never gotten use to the cold. She longed for the warm waters of Hawaii or Florida, maybe the Caribbean even. “I think you called me a blueberry.” She replied to the man as she searched for her slippers.


“Really? I thought I was going with a tribal person. You know, like us?” he iterated as he struggled with the zipper to his coat. It always happened to get caught in the same spot, and he was afraid he was going to need a new coat sooner rather than later, even though he really liked the one he had now. It was made of Gore-Tex, or something, and it was the best jacket he had ever seen or had for that matter. Best of all, an old friend had given it to him after he had returned from a tour with the Army from Iraq, so it was the genuine article of General Issue Military Grade, and not some two-bit jacket with camouflage painted on it.


“You’re Yup’ik is horrible,” she laughed. “And why would you call someone that? That’s like me going around saying ‘Hello, my fellow Alaskan’.” She remembered that she hadn’t brought her slippers on that excursion, and was now searching for a clean pair of socks in her pack.



“Well excuse me for trying to learn the language of my people! I didn’t know know that such things were below a person of your stature.” He replied almost gleefully, though only because he was able to get the zipper down without incident on his jacket. He always wondered why it got stuck going down but never going back up. Maybe he should find a seamstress or tailor.



She scoffed at him, “Excuse me? My heritage is not below me at all.” She then shook her hair and put on her most provocative face. “You however, are definitely below me,” she said slyly she shot her leg out, slowly sliding her knee high socks up her calf in the most of seducing manners, as though it were really a black, fishnet legging. “Whenever I want.”


The man had stopped undressing and stared blatantly at the woman, now tease, across on the bed still. She, had put her covered foot down and began rolling the other knee high sock up the other leg. “Are those wool socks? You know what wool socks do to me…”


“Oh, I know she.” She giggled as she pulled the monstrous sock taught as she could over her calf.



Suddenly, the man lunged for her, half undressed. His snow suit pants were unbuttoned and slid down to his knees, which tripped him in his pursuit and sent him flailing through the air and slamming into the floor. The woman let out a gaggle in laughter, and then covered her mouth, knowing that he might seriously be hurt, though the scene enough was just too funny. He laid face down, his vintage long underwear being the only thing other than a shirt half off and his trousers and pant suits binding his lower legs. One of the buttons on the buttocks flap were undone, just showing a hint of the mans behind.


She got on all fours and flipped him over, and he was laughing just as much as she had been. She sat on his stomach and was delighted how every time he laughed, it would bounce her up and down as though she was nothing at all.


“See what I mean? Right where you belong, beneath me.” she said to him after the laughing finally had subsided a bit. She looked intently into his eyes, and he returned her gaze.


“I could think of worse situations,” he replied. At that moment, his gaze turned from longing to that proverbial “shit eating” grin showing he was horny.



She rolled her eyes, “Really? So you’re saying this is a bad situation?” she stood up off of him suddenly.



“Wait, what? No! I mean that it, uh, was a good situation!” he retorted. He saw his window of possible love making quickly shrink.



“Then why did you think of worse situations, or compare that to them?” she wasn’t really made, she just knew how to goad him on and trip him up. Maybe she was sadistic because she liked it, she thought. Whatever the reason, it was still fun, she concluded.



He stammered and stuttered, then sighed. “So no nookie this morning, Suzy?” he inquired.



“No nookie for you!” she retorted in the best impression of a hardened, German soup kitchen owner from a show her parents watched long ago. She looked over her shoulder and smiled seductively at him again. This time, however, he was the one to roll his eyes and began to finish his undressing.


Suzy was a native of Alaska herself, that both her parents were from the Yupik tribe, or an Eskimo to those who didn’t know of the natives of Alaska. While many didn’t like the term Eskimo, as outsiders would use it in a derogatory fashion, she never minded it. To her, it was not different then calling someone white, black, Hispanic and so on. It was just a characteristic.


She closed the refrigerator and got a bowl from the counter. She had began mixing together the powdered egg in a bowl of water when she caught the reflection of herself in the window above the sink. She had just turned thirty one, though still look young. Her skin had a tint of darkness in it, to show some ethnicity. Her hair however, was completely silver. While it wasn’t uncommon for natives hair to go white, silver or grey as they grew old, her hair had turned a light silver when she was barely out of high school. If that wasn’t enough, she had already been self conscious enough due to “blossoming” early in school. While she maintained her athleticism for her job, she couldn’t hide her large bust or wide hips. While most women yearned for such measurements, she never enjoyed the attention they brought. Worst yet, she always received a lot of comments being a State Trooper. Not so much from people in general, but mostly from the people she arrested or questioned. She learned along time ago to take it all with a grain of salt, but it would sometimes sting a bit still.


As she sighed, mentally criticizing her looks, her husband had finished taking off his winter getup and came up from behind, rapping his arms around her. As she dumped the egg mixture into the skillet, she smiled at his embrace, until she felt something from behind that wasn’t soft, but definitely warm. She spun around and stared wide eyed at the now naked man in front of her. “John!” she exclaimed.


“What? Can’t a husband hold his wife in a loving embrace?” he smiled, completely aware of making her blush. He was naked, except for a pair of socks. Despite the cold temperature within the small shack, it did little to thwart his “excitement”.



“Are you kidding, we don’t have time!” she said unconvincingly, as though she were trying to talk herself out of the idea.



“The plane is late, everyone is staying in because it’s cold, and we haven’t been together in weeks. We’re making time.” He stated, this time being the one’s whose voice dripped with seduction and desire. He stepped in, sweeping her up as she giggled hysterically, and took her back to the bed she had just woken up from. The eggs in the skillet began to bubble and churn over each other, the wet, uncooked portions weaving to and fro. Slowly, a bubble formed in the middle and began to grow. The more the pan began to heat, the more the eggs sizzled in their oil, the more the bubble grew and grew until it finally burst open in climax.