Writing Championships #6

Sapphire Simps

Prompt: Warmth

Cold. It was cold out, but Etho wasn't too bothered. But he ignored the chill, continuing to trudge through the endless oceans of snow to continue working.

Flurries of snowflakes blurred his vision but he just pushed onwards, using a compass to orientate and prevent himself from getting lost in the freezing desert. He was bundled up, figuring he was protected from the harsh wind and low temperatures.

He stopped by a large patch of ice and pulled out his pickaxe. Ignoring the immediate numbness that began to prick at his fingers, he sighed and got to work, careful as to not slip.

His silk touch pickaxe broke through the ice with ease, not shattering the blocks but still breaking them off from each other so he could shove them into a shulker box with ease. He looked up and glanced around, eyes hurting.

Blue and white was all he could see. The horizon was hazy, distorted by snowflakes and coated in gray. The ground was pure, blinding white, and Ethi squinted and looked away, blinking a few times. He shook his head, a bit angry at himself for getting distracted and wasting time, and he went back to what he was doing.

Seconds, minutes, hours passed by unnoticed, Etho being too absorbed in his resource gathering to notice how cold he had gotten. He had underestimated just how harsh the weather was in this biome, and he couldn't feel his fingers as they brushed against the wood of his tools anymore.

Cursing under his breath, he pulled his sleeves up a bit to cover his hands. He had to finish gathering this ice for his current project, and didn't really want to fall behind. So he ignored the chill that had settled in him and went back to gathering ice.

Winds pulled at his jacket and snow pelted his hair, Etho's surroundings were ignored and he disregarded the consequences of how long he was staying out there. It wouldn't be too bad, right? He could warm right up once he was done.

Warmth. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a wistful memory— how odd

Etho started to shiver, his teeth clattering as he continued to work in the snow and gathering resources.

Why was the cold affecting him so much? He's the ice king now! He shouldn't be bothered by the cold at all.

The ninja was now constantly shivering and covered in snow. Etho was really starting to regret staying out for this long but he had to keep going, right? He can't fall behind and he had to get this tedious job done.

Maybe he should leave and come back another day, when he wasn't as affected by the cold as he was now.

The thought was quickly turned down as Etho started to raise his pickaxe again, once again scolding himself about wasting time. Wistful thinking wasn't going to make the job anymore efficient.

Etho could do this. It had only been like what, four hours out in the freezing snow? So what if his hands were literal ice blocks right now and so what if he couldn't feel anything right now? He'll survive.

Ignoring the fact that his hands were now completely numb, Etho struck the ice again and again.

A few minutes later, Etho felt ready to drop dead right then and there. There was permanent chill that had made its way into his bones, settling in and it didn't feel like it would leave anytime soon.

Oh how Etho wished to feel warmth again, to sit by a roaring fire in a cozy little room and gently sip on some hot chocolate or some warm broth whilst reading a book or perhaps planning another crazy project.

Etho's legs collapsed, sending him into the snow.

Etho closed his eyes.

Was he going to die here? Probably, most likely from hypothermia.

How ironic, the ice king dies from hypothermia.

Alone.

All alone.

"Love?"

Etho could see from his blurry eyes a pink flower crown and a cardigan step into his vision.

"Stress?"

Etho's throat felt like it was coated with ice.

"Oh dear, love, what happened?" Stress stepped tentatively towards him. "Your lips are so purple. You must be freezing!"

Etho tried to stand up, but he wobbled. He couldn't feel anything, it felt like. He felt numb. "I-It's fine. I'm fine. I'll be good."

"Love, I'm worried about you. The ice didn't have good effects on me either when I was living in it-"

"I'M FINE!"

Stress stumbled back with hurt on her face.

Etho felt like he should feel something when he was yelling at Stress, like guilt, but he couldn't.

"I'm not like you, I can take it."

Etho held his arms together.

He was so cold.

"I'm supposed to be strong."

But suddenly, arms wrapped around his chest, caring, forgiving.

Etho's eyes widened.

They were warm. 

"Not all the time, Etho. Not all the time." 

Warmth.

It was like a mug of hot cocoa spreading from his chest.

It was forgiving.

It was caring.

It had love.

Love, love, love, love and warmth.

They were such beautiful words to say.

The ice in his heart melted away.

And then, for whatever reason, Etho started to cry.

Warm tears streamed down his face.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," He hiccuped as Stress patted his back. "I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry."

"It's ok, love. It's ok." Stress squeezed him tighter. "I know how lonely it can get out here."

"It's so cold." Etho wiped his nose with his sleeve, his voice cracking. "I don't know why it's so cold."

"I'm here now, love. Don't worry." Etho sniffled and hiccuped and his chest shook. "I'm here now."

"I just- I just didn't want to waste time." Etho clung tighter to Stress, like she might go away. "I wanted to get everything done."

"We have all the time in the world, Etho. All the time in the world."

And as Etho clung to Stress and closed his aching eyes, he felt more warm that he had ever been. It was almost as if he had never felt warmth before. 

And slowly, steadily, Etho fell asleep.

They say that there is a certain type of warmth you can get from cold.

There is a certain type of love you can get from being alone.

For the first time, Etho felt truly, fully, completely, loved.

And it was beautiful.

And it was warm.

Warm.

Score: 11.5 (Spectators' Favourite)