Page 10 of Two Canes, One Cup
I hope she stays warm.
Why is there a piece of me that wants to go check on her myself?
Chapter 7 -Stacy
Why is it so damncold?
Bleary-eyed, I poke my head out of the warmth of the covers and watch my breath form in the air around my head.
The barest of morning light filters in through the icy windows that rattle with the driving gale.
Shit. I think the power went out.
Maybe it will come back on?
I burrow back into the covers and hope that this is just temporary. My electricity has been out before in Ohio, but never for very long.
Well, I remember my mom talking about once when I was a kid it was out for a week after a big ice storm.
Surely this won’t be like that?
I’ll just text the owner to let them know.
Great, the internet isn’t working either. And this is too far in the middle of nowhere to have cell coverage.
So entirely not helpful.
Trying to go back to sleep doesn’t help as the chill starts to seep in.
Curling into a ball beneath the layers, I finally resign myself to the fact that I need to start a fire.
This sucks.
I’m shivering before I climb out of bed to rapidly tug on extra clothes.
Taking another look outside past the frosty edges, I swear there’s at least six fresh inches of snow out there.
But it’s blowing so hard I can’t tell. On one side of my car it’s nearly up to the roof, where the hood is still bare.
I’m not driving out of here today.
Okay. Heat, baby.
Staring at the cold fireplace, I have no idea where to start. There’s a small pile of wood rounds. I should be able to just light them?
I take three and make a pretty pyramid in the hearth, then manage to get the lighter to spark a tiny flame.
It burns my thumb long before the bark catches.
There has to be a trick to this.
If I had Google, I’d try to see how to make one. I’m sure there’s some sort of Boy Scout tutorial channel, right?
Gosh I could go for a hot cup of coffee.
Wait. The neighbors have smoke coming from their chimney.
Would it be strange if I asked them for help? Better than slowly freezing to death.
