sweetpeasprite

Myrtle used to like playing in the snow.

She watches, now, as large flakes of white go past her window, adding to the already thick blanket on the ground. Had this happened a month ago, she would be out with Denny, sledging down the hill near the train station, tripping and laughing and making snow angels, snowmen. Denny never missed a snowball, but she would try to dodge anyway, giggling and trying to keep her pom-pom adorned hat on her head as she retaliated. Genghis always used to love the snow, racing around kicking it up and barking as it fell back down. They would go back to Myrtle's for hot cocoa after, and set Genghis on a towel as the ice melted from his fur.

Unfortunately, the snow didn't fall a month ago, and Myrtle was still down with this dreaded sickness. She had heard her mother say something about Denny, too - murmurs about how she hasn't seen him for the past week, how maybe they should check on his family. Her father doesn't respond, as he would have done a month ago, instead grumbling to himself over a newspaper.

As it is now, Myrtle stands at her window and watches the snow pass, looking out as it gently dances in the wind, as though it's happy to finally reach Motorville, having escaped the cloud it came from. She's always liked snow - not just for playing in, but for how beautiful it is as it falls. That's lucky, she supposes, considering she isn't going outside any time soon. Myrtle wipes the fog from the glass, and her hand comes away wet. She sighs, rubbing her fingers together to rid them of the condensation, before someone laughing catches her ear.

She glances back out the window, and finds two figures, stark against the white snow. Two boys, running through the street, occasionally chucking a snowball at each other as they go. One has ginger hair and a slightly too big dark blue coat, with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye. The other has dirty blonde hair and glasses, taller than his companion and throwing snowballs far more often, snorting whenever he hits the other. Myrtle sees the two of them together far more often than not, though she doesn't know their names. She knows one of them owns the garage just next to them, and wonders if that's where they're going for a moment, but they keep going down the street. The ginger-haired boy slips on a patch of ice, and yelps, almost falling, but the blonde one catches him and puts him upright. It's a nice gesture, but is immediately ruined by the blonde boy putting snow down the other's shirt right after he checks he's okay, then running out of Myrtle's view. The ginger shouts, then takes off after him, grinning.

Myrtle watches them go, waiting for their laughter to fade into the distance, before she looks back at her window for a second, and gingerly slides it open, just enough to get her hands through. She reaches out past the overhang of the window to feel the snowflakes on her fingers and palm, tingling as they melt on her skin. Snow has been building up on her windowsill since it started falling, a fluffy white border to her face staring through the glass. She hesitantly hovers her hand above it, brushing her fingers over it, before picking some up and crushing it into a ball in her hand.

It's cold. Of course it is - she doesn't have any gloves, and it's tiny bits of frozen water. She turns it over in her hand as it melts from the warmth of her skin, squeezing her hand so it breaks in three. Then she repeats the process, picking up snow from her windowsill and pressing it into her palm, watching it melt away. The small gap in the window allows a tiny bit of cold air to enter, and as it reaches Myrtle's nose, she only hesitates for a second as she carefully slides the window open more, exposing her face to the outside. She breathes in the cold, crisp air as it hits her skin, refreshing her as she gazes in wonder at the sky, no longer obscured by frost on the glass. She gathers a little more snow, and smiles for what feels like the first time in weeks as she holds it in one hand and crushes it with the thumb of the other, watching it break into tiny pieces and fall over the edge of the windowsill.

"Myrtle?" her mother's voice calls, and Myrtle startles, dropping the snow as though it burned her and shutting the window quick but not with enough force to make a loud sound.

"Yes?" she calls down, wiping her wet hands on her dress.

"Dinner!"

"Be right down!"

Myrtle takes a breath. Her room is cold now, as are her hands, and she shivers. Even so, she takes one last longing glance at the street outside, footprints left by the two boys already getting covered by fresh snow. She sighs, and leaves her room for dinner.

---

The next year, Myrtle quietly does an English assignment at her desk. She still hasn't quite caught up from when she was away from school for half a year, but she's a smart girl. She can figure out whatever she hasn't been taught. It snowed for the first time this winter last night, which is nice. She hasn't been outside today yet, though - too busy doing catch-up.

She's quietly finishing off some questions on repetition when a sudden bang startles her almost out of her chair, having to grab her desk to steady herself. She whirls her head around, looking for the source of the noise, when she sees, out of the corner of her eye, a white half-circle on her window. She stares at it for a while, before sighing fondly, standing up and walking over to the glass.

She wipes the fog off with her sleeve, and finds two certain boys outside on the street.

Oliver sees her first, and sticks his arm in the air and waves, beaming up at her. Myrtle faintly hears him shout a greeting, muffled by the closed window. Phil is too busy gathering more snow to throw another ball to see her, but looks up at Oliver's shout and grins. Myrtle's thankful she kept the window shut for this long as Phil launches the snowball up at her, barely missing her window this time and just getting the wall next to it, making her flinch backwards. She slides the window open once she recovers, smiling.

"Myrtle!" Oliver shouts up. "Myrtle, come down!"

"We're gonna go challenge Denny to a snowball fight!" calls Phil, resting his elbow on Oliver's shoulder until he bats him away.

Myrtle raises her eyebrows. "Denny?" They nod. Myrtle blinks a few times, thinking. She has homework to do, but this'll be fun to watch.

She gathers up the snow on her windowsill, ice melting on her fingers, and presses it together. Before either of them can realise what she's doing, Myrtle throws the snowball and hits Oliver dead in the face. He yelps, almost falling backwards, but steadies himself as Phil grabs him.

"I call Denny's team!" Myrtle shouts, before sliding her window shut, closing out their shouts of protest, and running downstairs to get her coat.