The lake was impassable when winter pushed south and spring brought warmer weather. During the harsh months it was our trade route out of town, we trekked back and forth across the ice, pelts slung on our backs.
Spring came early this year, sudden. It dropped in overnight, threatening to cut us off. The lake creaked as we made our way home, the cloudy whiteness now a fragile window to the depths below. We saw them then, all those we’d lost, clawing at the frozen glass. Dead eyes searching out fractures in the ice, a Winter’s hunger welcoming the thaw.
Steve Campbell has work published or forthcoming in places such as Spelk, Fictive Dream, MoonPark Review, formercactus, Train Lit Mag and Idle Ink.