The Hunt
Snow was off, running for her dear life as the huntsman pursued, drawing ever so closely. Heart pounding, body shivering, feet aching. Her heart was the thing of desire. Her mother, the one who vowed to love and protect her, was now demanding her death sentence. Horse gallops, distant shouts of the minutemen, and her heavy panting were the only sounds of the densely packed forest. Snowflakes fell hard on them on that December mourn. While others were oblivious to the Queen’s actions, decorating for the upcoming holiday events, Ms. White was running like her life depended on it.
Unbeknownst to the predators and prey sprinting amongst the snowy landscape, a snowstorm approached, hungry and willing to feast on anything in its path. Still, they played in the snow, Snow White frantic as she was being hunted like a cats next meal. The hunters caught eye of the storm in-front of them, and instead of dealing with their mission, left, only later to return to that very same place to harvest their needed goods. Ms. White, still utterly numb of her unpleasant upcoming events, kept straggling her body on, in hopes of losing the killers before her body acted like an orchard, the guardsman taking what they are in need of. But she couldn’t let herself imagine the agony of that, for the Queen said to keep her alive as she was submitted to her grueling demise.
Far past the point of survival, Snow came to her realization that she was, indeed, dead. As her body slowly shut down from hyperthermia, hunger, and body deterioration, still she marched on. Her lips, redder than ever. Her skin was invisible to her as she tried to see an inch in front of her. Her hair, poking out like a woman at a pub.
Off in the far distance, a shack, made for dwarfsmen, stood idly, fighting the resistance of the harsh winds and hail larger than the cornballs at the town’s local tavern inn. Snow’s only hope was to make it that far. But it was still, at the least, 3 miles farther up the already cold mountain. Although her expectation to make it through the next minute were low, she pushed on. Her body yearned for a break, her soul unstable from the stress of checking her back.
Two more steps
Two more steps
Two
More
Steps
That and putting one foot in front of the other was the only thing Snow could put her mind to. Even then, it was hard to focus on one thing.
Two more miles
Snow White, by now, was in the middle of the hungry storm. The wind fighting her, agreeing with Queen Grimhilde’s decision on her fate. Anything past a millimeter in front of her was a big white blur. Still, she persevered the harsh conditions, holding onto the glimpse of life she had left.
The storm did nothing more the worsen as Snow waddled her way through the inches of what is now sleet and hail. Her chances of surviving are as low as surviving the Titanic. Anxiety and fear boiled in her tiny head as she continued to breath and live. The equivalent to a land hurricane just about swallowed her whole as she hesitantly walked right through the beast. Tree branched flailed and swiveled around, holding for dear life. Deer fled, squirrels hid, and birds flew away as the storm with psychopathic tendencies tore through the woods.
Snow White has two options, from which she needed to make a quick decision, for they depended on her life and death. She could either crumble and die in the forest for the huntsmen to harvest from. Or she could stumble on a little further, up the ridged mountain, and have a sliver of hope. Her head scrambled as she simultaneously fought the winds and kept herself warm enough with her throw-over to keep her muscles intact. she played her option speedily in her head, obviously choosing her slight crack of life over anything.
One more mile
As Mrs. White slowly escaped the clutches of the storm's tightly woven grasp, her vision cleared by a touch, and her brain made out an outline of a hut up in the woods. Snow did not know at the time, but it was the exact hut that she had seen only an hour prior to her current situation. Her foot slipped on the mountainous rocks as she began her trek up the sharp formation. She quivered as she took another ragged stone edge in the pal of her hand. Hypothermia caught up to her, something she had not planned ahead. Her thin flowing dress flew up too many times to count. Her shaw only covered so much of her arms as she pulled it down. If she had the hair, Snow would have attempted to shade her body with it.
Her legacy would be nothing as the Evil Queen would taint her ever-angelic name. Her life spiraled after the death of the town's beloved King. The King, before the villagers sentence of depression ever occurred to them, actually went through a rough patch of life. Queen Grimhilde had, in the years before, banished 7 dwarves from 'her' kingdom. The tiny men were all brothers, and the King looked up to their close connections and their swear to never leave each other.
Doc, who was known around town of his wacky, but useful inventions. Grumpy, who was always finding an excuse to be mean, but kind-hearted. Happy, who's main goal in life was to fill people with glee. Sleepy, who's one wish in life was to sleep. Dopey, who was always acting like something was happening in the back ally. Bashful, who's sweet character made every girl swoon. Sneezy, who's allergies never got in his way of having the time of his life. The 7 coal miners lived alone up in stone shack on the side of the hill Snow was hiking.
And as if her prayers were heard, she stepped foot upon the creaking wood porch. The ceiling was short, and passage ways narrow. But Snow did not mind, and the door slowly creaked open, inviting her in.
