Walking Home...A Short Story

The Weekly Blog Post Returns!

This week's picture brought back some memories of when I lived in Europe. I know there's been a lot of changes, but somethings don't change. Thanks again to Nicole, Tena, Carrie, and Leanne for posting the stories You can post your stories to any of these blogs. And Thanks for choosing me again!

Here again are the rules:

1) There will be one photo, and five words - both of those elements must be a feature in the brief story you create.
2) There is also a 500 word maximum.
3) You have until the next Wednesday to create your post.
4) When you have finished your post, come back HERE and link up below and let whoever your blog host is know in the comments that you have done so!
5) We were going to tell you to not take this too seriously, but reconsidered it because we know full well that asking writers to write something means that they will take it seriously. So, take it seriously, but don't fret/panic/pass out/hyperventilate/lose sleep/run in fear over it.

The week's five words are: 

Aerial

Fare

Rain

Sale

Profit

Here's my submission. Enjoy!

Walking Home

            The heavy snow fell as if the sky itself were inflicting vengeance on all life below. “At least it’s not rain,” Eva Holmstrom thought to herself as the aerial assault of frozen water hampered her evening commute from the car rental office in downtown Copenhagen where she worked to her apartment in the suburbs of Glostrup. The 6:35 p.m.train took her only so far and one look at her bicycle buried under a blanket of new-fallen snow told the pretty 35-year old Dane that walking the three kilometers to her home would be her best option. The bike, one of hundreds at the train station, would still be there in the morning. Good thing she wore her winter boots.

             The solitary sound of virgin snow being crunched under Eva’s warm winter boots accompanied the lonely woman as she made her way home. The smell of automobiles and diesel engines mixed with each snowflake falling silently under the umbrella of night added to Eva’s sense of melancholy. This was the first winter Eva spent without her mother, who died of breast cancer the previous August and with her death, Eva lost her last remaining parent. She was an orphan, and because she was an only child, she alone remained the only member of her immediate family.

With the sun having set hours earlier, lights from Scandinavian’s second largest city in the east illuminated the clouds hovering over the mostly flat countryside casting an eerie pale in the sky above. Eva continued on, passing an occasional home in between rows and rows of apartment buildings, in which contained various shops and businesses on the first floor. The bright lights from the storefronts invited Eva to come inside, tempting her with a sale on cigarettes or a reduced fare on winter vacation packages from a local travel agency. If she wanted, she could even get her company’s latest profit figures from the Berlinske Tidende telling her whether or not she could expect a raise next year.

            But it was the bakery that caused Eva to finally stop and allow the soft flakes of frozen water to dissolve into her already wet wool hat and heavy coat. She peered through the bakery window frosted from the warm pastries inside at the numerous treats and delicious desserts for which her country was famous. When she spotted the studentebrød, her heart skipped a beat. The food made from pastry unsold the day before was something her mother used to make for her when Eva was a child and money was tight. Though every bakery made their studentebrød a little different, this particular baker’s invention mirrored her mother’s in so many ways. 
           Eva loitered for just a moment and then moved along, each step brought her closer to her empty house. As she walked, water gently rolled down the fair skin of her cheek. It could have been from the snow, but Eva, and the clouds above, knew otherwise.

Word Count: 492