A Flower In The Snow by Ashton Le (17, California)

The world, for some unexplained reason, was plunged into another Ice Age. Hundreds of blankets of snow wrapped every corner of the world. The once bright sunlight grew weak as it tried to pierce through the never-ending clouds. Snowstorms were frequent, keeping any living creature from staying out too long. The winds howled constantly, singing in agony at the state of the world. 

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And in this world lived a boy. The fish under the ice were his food, the wood from the snow-coated trees were the fuel to his fires, the rare animals that he’d find were the furs to his clothes, and the snow packed together were the building blocks to his shelter. 

His parents had died some years ago, but before they passed away, they left the boy with stories of the past. They told him of the world before the new Ice Age, where plants grew frequently, where animals roamed around, where humans used to live standing close to the sky rather than huddled to the ground. 

Not far from this boy’s igloo stood a long mountain range, a view he would look at whenever he recalled the stories that his parents told him. A paradise existed beyond that mountain range. He had convinced himself of that after many years of living alone. 

Beyond those mountains must exist the world that his parents told him about, and after months of preparations, the boy prepared himself to cross that mountain range. He gathered all of his warm furs, every single bit of food and water and set off early in the morning. 

He smiled as he took the first steps forward towards paradise. The sun seemed to shine even brighter than before, the winds did not sing as sadly, and the storms had yet to come. It was almost like the world itself was supporting this boy on his journey. 

But the gift given by the universe didn’t last for very long. A snowstorm suddenly struck the boy on his journey. The winds howled at him, telling him, pushing him to return. The snow tried to bury him, blind him, and keep him from his journey forward. And yet, the boy pushed forward, shielding his eye, holding his own body tightly and taking another step forward. 

One step became two, two became ten, ten became one hundred, and soon the boy made it through the snowstorm. As his vision cleared and he was given time to rest and eat, the boy saw the path ahead of him. It was long. So much longer than he had thought. So many storms that he’d have to face. So little food and warmth left. And yet he walked forward. 

The storms continued to beat him and soon, he had no more food or warmth. In the middle of pushing through a storm, he crumbled and fell. Cold. He felt so cold and weak. He couldn’t walk anymore. But, he could still crawl. 

He struggled for every single inch, clawing through the snow, pushing himself out of his grave of snow. He screamed and yelled louder than even the howling winds. And as he fought for every single inch, as he creamed and yelled, fire erupted from his body. 

Flames that melted the snow, flames that gave the boy renewed strength, it wrapped around his entire body and helped him push forward. The boy laid in the snow, stunned from drawing out such a strange power. He did not question it, but grew grateful to the world.

He rose from the snow, and walked forward, hoping to cross the mountains and reach paradise. The boy lost track of time as the skies above him cycled through night and day. The flames continued to burn bright as he walked closer to the mountains. 

Arriving at the base of the mountains, he started to climb. The jagged stones, the mountain winds, and the monstrous heights, it did not matter in the face of this boy’s fire. He pushed through it all, and soon, arrived at a cliff revealing the other side. 

He could finally see the wondrous view that existed on the other side. The lush green plants, the lively animals, the people that he would be able to talk to…they…didn’t exist. The view beyond the mountain as he stood on the cliff was just another wasteland of snow. There were no lush plants, no lively animals, no other people that he could converse with. Just snow. Neverending snow. 

The boy came down from the cliff, believing that he simply needed to walk a little more, just another step to arrive at paradise, but his flames started to wane. Each step forward was another step to extinguishing his flames. His breathing was frantic, his eyes started to sting the farther he walked. After all that struggle, there was no paradise. 

And as the boy realized that no matter how much more he walked, he would never make it to paradise, and so he dropped to the ground. The once bright flames that engulfed his body was gone. Tears streamed from his face, dotting the snow beneath him. He cried out, not in a fighting struggle for another inch forward, but in pure pain and agony. 

A snow storm struck the boy, slowly burying him deeper and deeper into his grave. His limbs grew numb, his entire body cold. From his body, a single flower bloomed. Bright red and yellow petals, the flower withstood every single snowstorm that tried to bury it away. It was the first flower of its kind, but not the last. In the place of the boy’s body, an entire field of this type of flower bloomed. 

Someone would find it some years in the future and notice something strange about the flower.
        ​      Wherever it grew, the snow would melt away, creating its own paradise of lush green plants,
        ​              ​      ​lively animals, and a place where there existed people that the boy could talk to.

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