Following the post about my visit to the Royal Society of Literature thanks to my short story entry to the V. S Pritchett Memorial Prize, many of you kindly asked if I was going to publish the story here on my blog. So I am pleased do just that.
I wrote ‘The Whiteout Years’ in the midst of Spring but it is set in Winter and particularly New Year so I thought this an apt time to post it. The story was also shortlisted for the InkTears Short Story Contest 2015.
As this is quite a long story I have decided to split it into two parts, however if you wish to read it in one go, please click this link. The Whiteout Years
As always, I really will appreciate your comments.:)
The Whiteout Year by Annika Perry
The music was blaring in the car, some modern Norwegian pop and once again Carl scanned through the radio stations. Lots of grinding static, then a few words, then silence as he hit the off button. Admittedly he was out in the Swedish forest but surely it shouldn’t be impossible to find a decent station, preferably in English.
Outside the snow had started to fall again; thick snowflakes bombarding the windscreen, the white swirls hypnotic. Carl slowed down and rubbing his eyes peered through the windscreen. On full beam he was reduced to the bottom of well vision, so minimal it barely reached the bonnet of the car. There was a slight improvement with normal lights on as the headlights lit a dull streak in front of him.
It was too hot in the car and Carl turned down the heating and opened the windows. The cold blast of air bit into his cheeks. Well, that did the trick and now fully awake he looked out for the sticks. He remembered his first winter here with Karin, her laughter filled the car as she sped along the narrow road at if in a rally, catching the orange snow poles marking the edge of the road with glancing blows. Behind the poles was a metre deep ditch, packed with snow. No poles now, a recession was on, instead birch branches, painted white were impaled into the ground earlier in the Autumn. Clever that, white against the white snow – a genius stroke thought Carl ruefully. Wonder what Karin would have made of that?
Finally Carl reached a crossing for the main road and out of habit he stopped. He knew he didn’t have to; he’d have seen any approaching car from the top of the hill. Nothing. A moment of total silence. With the windows down he sat and listened. He never failed to be overawed by the silence, the odd rustle of snow falling gently to the ground from the over-ladened fir trees. The odd animalistic sound deep in the forest, feral and prehistoric.
That fist time he’d been petrified, as with Karin they took a trek through the woods in the late afternoon. Lunch at her parents had been long and jovial, wine followed by schnapps, then the coffee and cakes. Replete and exhausted they’d made their excuses and headed out for a break. Whilst his body had been warm, his lungs froze in pain, as he inhaled the icy wind. Shocked he’d stopped and gasped and with a warm gloved hand Karin lifted his scarf across his mouth and face, softly stroking his cheek. “Keep safe,” she’d whispered. If only she’d listened to herself.
During their first winter walk, the snow crunched luxuriously under their boots, the frozen twigs snapped against their coat and the moss popped quietly in protest. A world transformed and in awe Carl, gloved hand holding Karin’s, wandered around the magic winter wonderland. He’d laughed suddenly, startling Karin.
“What?” she’d asked.”What’s so funny?”
“Last year we took my nephew to a winter wonderland in Cornwall, it was dreadful, such a disappointment. But look at this. Heaven – there is no way you could recreate this.”
Not far now, he was almost there and yet another year without Karin. Without her blonde air across his chest as he woke in the mornings. Without her grumpy moody mutterings as she woke and then slowly cheered up sitting up in bed, black coffee clasped in her hands, duvet wrapped tightly around her. Carefully he’d snuggle next to her, sipping his tea. Another year without her clothes strewn around the bedroom; a shops collection of tops hogging the dresser drawers, skirts and trousers abandoned as if heading out for a walk. Whilst he folded his clothes with care, hung them on a hanger or over a chair, Karin would blissfully discard her clothes as she headed for a shower, one leg of the jeans in front of the other, as if removed mid-step.
The rejected choices from the previous day lay forlorn on the carpet, chair, wardrobe door. However did they get up there? In a fit of pique? Those early days together Carl had tidied up after her, attempted to mend her ways with hints and then stronger words. Within months he learnt to love the mess; he could gauge her mood by the number of items left out. Just one, a day of confidence and self-assurance. Three or more, Karin needed extra loving, caring. No one else knew, her fear of others, lack of belief in herself. How could they? So self-assured in her work, tall and beautiful. Your poster Swedish woman – god, how had he got so lucky?
The whiteout deepened and claustrophobic Carl glanced down the road. A wall of grey/white murk met his glance. He couldn’t see anything. The silence droned in his ears. Signalling right, he turned, first onto the the left side of the road, then correcting himself onto the right. At least the road was ploughed, snow banked two metres or so high on each side. He was still driving on snow though, icier here and he felt the snow tyres grip the surface with a little skid. That had been his life these past three years, skidding along.
Working, surviving, interspersed with hours, days, nights of whiteout. Oblivious he would just sit in the dark at home. Forgetting to put the lights on, forgetting to eat.
“You’ll slip through the cracks, if you don’t bulk up,” his friends warned him. He didn’t tell them, it was too late, He’d already slipped away.
Meals with Karin had always been spontaneous. His life of routine turned on its head as she entered his life.
“I’m starving,” she’d called out as they returned to his flat after their first date out. It was midnight, dinner was hours ago and the film had been a drag.
“I’ll get some toast and tea,” Carl had suggested. Karin scoffed at the idea, pushed her way into the kitchen and set to work. Within a few minutes most of the contents of his fridge and cupboards were on the counters, with the overspill on the small dining table.
“Let’s make a feast!” Swedish meatballs, rosemary potatoes, salad, dips, bread adorned the newly set table. She’d managed to find his one and only decent table cloth and not satisfied with its brown drabness she’d flamboyantly cast her blue scarf on top. With the harsh electric lights off, his long-forgotten candles were finally lit and in reverential silence they sat and ate. At two in the morning, a grotto of warmth and love. It was not only his kitchen which was transformed that night; Carl was never the same again.
To be continued…
©Annika Perry 2015
34 thoughts on “The Whiteout Years – Part One”
Wonderful story. I read both parts. Can see why you made the short list.
Can’t dawdle. On my way to Part 2. Lovely story.
Beautiful story, Annika! Great job!
I’m so gad you liked it, Heena! This was one of those that seemed to write itself. Lovely when that happens.
Yea… It’s amazing how it happens. I believe that these the only pieces that are truly precious to a writer… I mean, others are as well but the pieces that seem to write themselves are really the special ones!
So true, Heena!
Pingback: The Whiteout Years – Part Two | Annika Perry's Writing Blog
I’m hooked, Annika. Salivating for the next segment…. And Happy New Year to you! I hope it is as warm and cozy as Carl’s kitchen.
Thank you so much, Renee and wishing you a very Happy New Year too. I love that, ‘as warn and cosy as Carl’s kitchen’ – sweet. Hope you enjoy the next and final segment as much as this first one – it’s out soon. Take care.
I wasn’t sure when I started reading, but you hooked me. I wanted to be in that little cocoon of warmth. I’ll wait and see where it all went wrong in part 2 🙂 🙂
Phew, I’m glad it got you hooked, Jo. This is a slow-burner, rather like life itself but I hope the tensions and unexpected as well as the portrayal of Carl and Karin’s life keeps you reading. The second instalment is out later today.
I had to read the whole story. Well done, Annika. Sad and hopeful. And you’re right…good for this time of year. Buckle up and drive safely 🙂
Great that it captured your interest, Diana. It was your story post that gave me the idea to try and link the complete story in as an optional ‘extra!’. However, it nearly ended in tears as I couldn’t work out how to do it and then my son came to the rescue. Oh yes, always wear the seatbelt. I do like Karin’s zest for life though – even if it ventured on the manic side. I’ve decided I must love winter snowy landscape, my photos, story setting…
This is delightful, Annika. It didn’t feel long enough, like I could have read the whole thing. You so nicely balance the harsh environment with the warmth two people can create. I can’t wait for the second half.
Thank you so much for your warm kind words, Jacqui. This is one of my favourite stories of the many I’ve written and one close to my heart. I do feel strongly for the characters and the landscape which I’m glad to have captured. Not long for you to wait for the second and final part – out tomorrow.
Great story Annika – I’m not surprised you won with this one. I’m afraid I had to read the whole story in one go – twice! So atmospheric, so moving and so sad yet uplifting. Well done!
I’m glad you also found this uplifting, Mike, it’s meant to be despite the earlier events. Thank you so much for you lovely comment and for reading it twice! It’s quite long.
Loved the story! Couldn’t wait so I read it all. So touching! So much depth in it. Beautifully wriiten. Well done Annika! Kram
Thank you so much, Marion – I’m so glad you enjoyed it and your words mean so much to me. Kram
Oh, so nasty of you to only put up the first part, Annika! 🙂
It was a bit mean, wasn’t it, Elaine!?😀 Actually I realise how daunting posts over 2,000 words can be, so a split seemed sensible. However, if you can’t wait for part two, the link should take you to the pdf file of the full story. Thanks so much for commenting.
Went on to finish the read of your story, Annika. Excellent! Sharing… Laugh, love, live! 🙂
Thank you so much, Bette. I’m beaming away now…it means so much to me that you liked it. 😀 May we all find renewed strength and hope in life after sorrows.
Enjoying your story… 🙂
Beautifully written, Annika. I’ll look forward to the next installment. The photo is gorgeous!
Thank you so much, Jill. 😀 I’m posting the second part in the next couple of days. I couldn’t believe it when I found this photo on Pixaby.com, it was just as I pictured it whilst writing – although it later becomes snowier and darker in the story. Very atmospheric.
A crisp, white Scandinavian landscape and good Scandinavian cooking. He was one lucky man. I’m now left wondering what has happened to him. Very atmospheric, I can feel being in the car with him. Looking forward to Part two.
I realised this is a quiet story in the start but wanted to capture the landscape and particularly Carl and Karin in their early days and I’m so happy you feel that, Peter. Whilst writing it I actually got chilly and confused as I after writing I looked up and expected to see the white of snow outside! Enjoy part two soon…
Beautiful imagery, I feel like I’m there in the car with Carl. I can also feel his sense of loss and disappointment in how his life turned out.
Thank you for posting. I will patiently wait for the next installment.
Thank you JC, I am so glad you can identify with Carl. I want his loss to be gut-wrenching to the reader and to feel as lost as he does. Don’t worry, you won’t have to be too patient for the part as I’m posting in the next couple of days.
Thank you Annika, so very much for the first part of “The Whiteout Years”.
I decided to stay with this part and re-read as there is so much of depth to take in.
You paint this fairy tale winter land with assured hand, beauty and mystic intermingling.
I recently read “attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity” (Simone Weil) and
it applies to Carl. His love for her shows in his attention to all details about his Karin.
Karin is such a warm and life affirming person; you cannot help loving her. Her vitality
propels the story.
Now waiting with patience and wondering how you will resolve these huge questions.
from one tear eyed reader
Thank you so much for your warm and considered comment Mirja. I do feel strongly for these characters myself and I hope that comes across. It’s only recently I realise how much I write about the winter landscape and then set this story in the snowy depths of winter – I must miss it I reckon! I hope you enjoy the resolution at the end – it’s quite dramatic as you might guess. By the way, I love the Simon Weil quote and have returned to it often. We are all so busy ‘doing things’ we forget that time and attention is the ‘purest form of generosity’. Beautiful reminder of what is so important in our lives.
Looking forward to reading the rest!
That’s great – I’m posting it in the next couple of days!