03. Four Seasons — A flash fiction story

Welcome to the third week of the Flash Fiction Challenge, where I take the challenge to write a piece of flash fiction in under 60 minutes!
I choose a prompt from the book ‘The Very Short Story Starter’ by John Gillard.
This week’s prompt was: ‘Structure a story based on the four seasons: winter, spring, summer, and fall’.

Spring

I move into the apartment during the first bloom of the year. My room is square-shaped and small — barely enough for a single-sized bed, a table, and a single-door wardrobe. I had already hurt my shins on the corners of the bed, and the clothes I owned didn’t fit in the wardrobe. After unpacking, I stored my empty suitcase under my table, planning to use it as a hard ottoman while studying. It was less than what my 22-year-old heart desired. But I wouldn’t have chosen this room — this apartment — if it wasn’t for the window.

The window in my room is at the center of the wall opposite the door so that the first thing I see when I enter the room is the outside. Not that the view is that great. There is no greenery unless you count a few hedges. The window covers the view of another building across the parking lot — a dance academy — from which music floats every evening. The train tracks run next to the apartment, so every time a train zooms past, the windows rattle. It isn’t much but it feels like it is everything — the first hopeful day of spring.

Summer

I can’t shut the window. The heat will kill me otherwise. I get that European apartments aren’t meant to withstand heat waves, but it shouldn’t start feeling like Delhi, should it? I can’t wait for the day to end — for some breeze to enter my atmosphere. But of late, whenever I turn myself to go to bed, the brightness outside taunts me, as if to say I have no life — that the day is younger than I am. The summers in the West need some getting used to. Especially if you were having a bad day, it didn’t show any signs of ending. A salsa tune plays from the dance academy and my toes move inadvertently. A Deutsch Bahn rushes to its new destination, carrying people with meat and memories, and I feel wistful looking at the purple sky. I sigh, I miss home!

Autumn

If I could describe the feel of Autumn, it would be this — a whirlpool that blows the green grass from the earth, the green leaves from the trees and centrifuges it to turn crisp. I hate the sound it makes when someone walks over it. The wind stabs your cheek, your neck, your hands. You have no option but to run for cover. And I do. I stay inside my room, look outside the window. The hedges have gone bare. The parking lot is full of cars. People on bikes cover their faces up to their cheeks as they stop in front of the dance academy. They rush towards the warmth of the building. When they reappear at the window, they have abandoned their coats and scarves, ready for practice. And I think how easily they switch from one form to another. Like a chameleon. Perhaps it is bred from familiarity, from routine. My first autumn feels foreign. I feel foreign. It feels like the weather is pushing me away rather than embracing me. When the closed window vibrates again, I say to myself, I’m never going out in the world again.

Winter

I had never seen this much white in my life. It is so white outside that I must close my eyes to adjust to its glow. And it is so perfect — the freshly fallen snow on the earth. It has been snowing continuously for 24 hours and I have been awake for the last 7 watching the snowfall. I blink and I feel the flake blinking along with me. I take pictures of the view from the window, so picturesque, something to reminisce about in the future. When the snow pauses to rain, I see a hooded figure walking on the street, lonely but so full of courage. I think to myself, everybody is lonely in this world. That thought calms me. Any inhibition that plagued me before erupts out of my chest and it takes a form in my hands, for me to mold and shape it into anything I want — maybe an apple I can bite into, or a book I can read. I grab my scarf, jacket, and gloves. I wear my boots. I walk down the stairs slowly. Even when I exit the apartment and taste the chill on the tip of my nose, I don’t turn around. I step forward and place my muddy footprint on the white snow.