Is It Over?

Theme 18: Winter, Theme 34: Holiday Crisis

Fern looked out her window. It was snowing heavily, the sky a grey mix behind a blanket of snow. It'd been this way for weeks, the constant cold and storms. Fern shivered, her house once again black from a fallen tree limb somewhere up the line. She missed electricity, heat, and kinship. Her parents had been out of town since the storm started, leaving sixteen year old Fern home alone, and she was absolutely sick of it.

A pop sounded in the distance and another block plunged into darkness. The cold was messing with the lines and transformers, making equipment give in the relentless cold. Fern huffed quietly, wondering why she and the others of Elwood City didn't pop into a mass of sparks too, falling to the pavement with an explosion and a mass of orange, red, and greyish-white. She was certainly sick of this stupid cold, and she knew the electronics, however lifeless they were, felt the exact same way.

Fern looked out the window. A pair of people walked up the street, too bundled in their coats and hats and scarves to be distinguishable. Fern shivered, wondering if she should call out to them. She had no idea how to start heat now that the furnace was out of heating oil, and she didn't exactly know how to work the fire place. She needed to get warm soon-

But part of her didn't want to, that nagging part of her that was so sick of being sick and tired and alone. She almost wanted the cold to steal her away from this pointless planet, taking her away from all the pain and hardship going on outside her window. She knew of two people, killed in icy car crashes, their grandmother devastated to the point of death herself. Others had succumbed to the typical winter illnesses—pneumonia, influenza, and just an unexplainable lethargy that Fern felt she suffered from as well. This lethargy, this depression, kept Fern from calling out. The figures disappeared into the distance. Fern sighed. It was just as well.

Another hour passed. A few more people trekked the streets, trying to end their boredom. She could hear trucks in the distance and see their lights. The company was working on the power, but Fern almost wished they wouldn't. This winter time hardship felt like the end of times, and as snow continued to pile up outside, she was glad this could be the end. Humans weren't meant to put up with this stupid cold weather. Why else would neanderthals have so much hair?

The power flickered on, and the space heater next to Fern's desk illuminated the room. Heat flowed out, a wave of pleasure flowing through Fern as it warmed her toes. She sighed heavily. Maybe the world wasn't entirely awful, but she wondered how much this could go on, these bouts of depression that threw her towards suicide. Pamphlets claimed medication could take away the bad thoughts or to help her grow apart from them. Adults kept telling her it was all in her head, that she simply needed to choose to be happy.

But how many times could she be so fucking unhappy, to the point that death sounded almost pleasurable, before she finally just let go?

The phone rang downstairs, a jarring sound in the silence. Fern answered it quickly, wondering if it could be her parents. Instead, George's voice was on the other end. He'd seen her sitting upstairs and wondered if she was doing okay. Fern lied; of course she was fine. Any sixteen year old Elwood City resident could live through a stupid power outage.

"Sorry to offend you," George blushed, "I just...I thought you looked so miserable, and my mom remembered your parents were out of town. I hoped you were doing okay."

Fern sighed. George was such a kind kid, always concerned for her well being. He was the only one who seemed to give a damn about her, and her heart panged. What if he really was the only one who cared? What if she did die and he found her? How would he feel then?

"Fern?"

"Sorry, what were you saying?" Fern asked.

"Well, my parents don't mind you coming to stay with us. They wish they'd remembered sooner. My mom was with me this afternoon, and-"

"I have to stay here in case my parents call. They're worried about me," Fern said quickly. George sighed, "Fern, the phones barely work. In fact, we're lucky we got-"

But the line died. Fern forgot that the ice coating the power lines had killed the phones too. She held the phone in her hand, icy in her grip. She stared at it, eying the numbers. George's home number was one of the few she knew by heart. He was the one person she could call when she needed someone, namely because he was the only one who would answer.

Fern decided to weigh her options. Her parents were stuck across the country, sleeping in a desolate airport trying desperately to get home. They probably weren't trying to call. They knew how winters in Elwood City worked.

A pop sounded in the distance. In an instant, the lights were out again. Fern sighed heavily. Because of George's stupid phone call, she'd only enjoyed her heater's warmth for a few seconds. She wanted to be warm so much that she'd rather be dead...

But something provoked her. She went upstairs and unplugged the heater. Then she piled on more clothes, moving into her parents' closet to find bigger clothing to go over own. She then packed some toiletries, some changes of underwear and socks, and a few of her school books.

As the wind began to whistle outside, she trekked into the snow, falling several times on her way to George's house. She fought hard to get there, and when she arrived, Neil Lundgren opened the door. He smiled when he saw her, escorting her into the master bedroom. His wife entered as he left, and she began to help Fern undress until she was only in her underwear. Her regular clothes were too wet and soiled from her trip, and she was shivering like someone near death.

But Mrs. Lundgren fought for her, and Fern rewarded her by getting better.

George looked Fern over. His cheeks were red from a trek to their outside woodpile. He slurped another spoonful of soup as he eyed her carefully. Fern looked back, wondering why he was staring so damn hard.

"You know, I was really worried about you. You sounded like...you'd given up or something. You sounded like you just didn't want to be here anymore," he whispered. Fern felt her chest tighten. How could someone who barely seemed to know her know so well?

Fern looked around. His parents were in the next room rebuilding the den's fire. Fern sighed, "I...I didn't want to be here anymore. And I'm still trying to decide, but...dying in a snowstorm just because you want to die is a stupid way to go. I hear you get delusional and strip off all your clothes when you die of hypothermia. If my parents found me naked in the living room, they'd probably think someone had hurt me. I couldn't let them find me like that, or you."

"Me?" George asked.

"Yeah," Fern nodded softly, staring down at her soup, "You're about the only one who'd care if I weren't here anymore. You'd be the only one to come looking."

George shook his head, "Fern, you're wrong about that. A lot of people here care about you. My parents only remembered your parents weren't here because Jane Read reminded them, and Arthur had to remind her. People do think highly of you. I guess they don't say much to you because they know you like to be left alone, but they'd miss you if you weren't here anymore. I'd miss you if you weren't here anymore, a lot," George stammered.

Fern looked up from her soup. George's face was twisted in anguish. He was telling her the truth and it was hurting him. He really, honestly cared for her.

"I didn't know," Fern whispered. "I guess when you get as down as I do, you convince yourself no one cares. The bad thoughts only agree with you, so the cycle continues," Fern murmured, trailing off.

George touched her arm, making her look up, "Fern, you're special, bad thoughts of not. Whenever you have them, I want you to tell me somehow. I know I can't do much, but I can talk to you, maybe spend more time with you. I don't want you to think you don't need to be here anymore. I don't want you to think it's okay to freeze to death alone in your own home, even if you talked yourself out of it."

"I almost didn't," Fern admitted. "I want to thank you and your family, and I promise, I'll try."

"And, if I ever have those thoughts myself, which I do sometimes, I'll tell you," George said in a very soft voice. Fern gave him a perplexed look as a knock sounded at the door. A police officer had remembered the Lundgren's and their fireplaces, and because of the constant outages, a few more neighbors needed to stay there. Francine and her parents were among them, as were Jenna and her parents.

The teens gathered together, playing cards and talking. George and Fern didn't have another serious conversation until after the severe winter weather was over, and by then, it was weeks later. George had gone through a very rough day, and he called Fern to help him through it. She did, and a few weeks later when she faced her own personal dilemmas, George helped her through just as she'd done for him.

Thoughts of death still visited Fern, but whenever they came, she'd remember George's words and try to chase the bad thoughts away. She was usually successful, but if she couldn't do it on her own, she'd call, and he'd always be there. She rarely got that close to death again, but it was always an option. Depression was her nemesis and it always lurked in the distance.

~End