Don't casually dismiss my stories, I was 7 when this happened in Buffalo NY. A one-page short story, damned good reading:
https://www.inkitt.com/stories/727728
https://www.inkitt.com/stories/727728
Story One of my true Dark Stories, very short, and happened in 1977.
A Small boy lost in
Whiteness and Death
SIGN IN EN
Let me tell you about a time I came
amazingly close to death as a young boy.
Stick with me. I’d like to go back in time
now, far back. To an integral historical
event in Buffalo history, and for me
personally. Although my memories are
somewhat vague, it all happened so long
ago. It’s been an infamous part of local
history, as well as my own.
In the wintertime, late January 1977, we
had a unique blizzard, something so
powerful it’s never been seen in Buffalo
history, and nothing even close to it
since. The region has always been known
for snow, cold, and ice storms as well. As
far back as Buffalo existed, we’ve always
had serious winters. To live there was to
be part of it, embrace it, live it, or maybe
die in it. There was always snow at
varying heights, from October to March,
sometimes covering the windows to the
roof, it is still a way of life there.
No way around living with the snow
there. Sometimes it was too high for
plows to be even effective. Imagine front
doors unable to open due to high drifts, as
well as windows buried. Cars get covered
so they are but higher lumps of white on
an endless white sea, and if the snow is
high enough, often no lumps at all. Of
course, you usually couldn’t see the
streets themselves either. In fact, in those
circumstances, the only way you would
know you are actually on a street in the
first place is to notice those
aforementioned lumps or street signs and
lamps above the snow.
So, five to six months a year, it was just
business as usual. High snow ever
present was a fact of life next to Lake
Erie. A homeowner's best friend, as well
as a most dreaded tool, was the snow
shovel. A major cause of heart attacks as
well. Necessary, but utterly despised.
Of course, snow at any height above a
foot is a chore, no doubt, but ice can be
far more treacherous, and dangerous. I
come from the perspective of a lifetime
walker. You don’t merely walk through
high snow, you struggle, fight, and trudge
through it. There’s no easy path,
depending upon the height, drifts, and
layout of the freezing white curse.
Enough of it can inconvenience you, but
ice, that can easily kill you. Far more
vehicle accidents are caused by ice rather
than snow. Folks have cracked their
skulls by walking and slipping on ice.
Deaths are rare, but they have happened
from time to time.
That January in 77, there was already a
lot of snow covering Buffalo, long before
the blizzard happened. In December, the
lake was already solid ice, and snow was
piled high on the solid lake surface, and
all over the entire city of Buffalo well
over a month before the actual blizzard.
That was an abnormally cold winter, not
just in Western New York, but in multiple
places across America. It actually snowed
in Miami that winter, I can only imagine
the panic there, bikinis and cold usually
don’t mix.
Locally, that month was more than a bit
chilly, average temps were around 11F,
and it snowed aplenty. However, a child’s
perspective is much simpler, cold is cold,
regardless of the temperature number. It
was actually so cold that when I ventured
outside tears would immediately be shed,
and those tears would promptly freeze on
my face.
Quite brisk i’d say. Back then at seven
years old I enjoyed the snow, as a young
boy would, but not the extreme cold. I had
no desire to become a boysicle, frozen
forever in place. A distant kin to my
favorite dessert. Seemed like an
unpleasant way to end up for a seven
year old youngster. At that tender age, I
had no friends, just my horrid selfish
mother, and my incessant reading, those
were my only companions, I’m sorry to
say. I hated the early grades in public
schools, almost as much as later grades
from kindergarten on up. I never fitted in
with other kids, never just “one of the
boys”, even way back then.
I was a pariah, just for being myself. I
was too smart for my own good, very shy,
and different, with way too many
questions about the meaning of it all.
Other young kids would avoid me, or
laugh, and teachers would get flustered, I
didn’t exactly fit the standard mold. In
fact, I even have memories of being
ousted from sunday school when my
mother dragged me into church on
occasions. So I ended up sitting through
the adult services usually. They were far
more boring, but the instructors didn’t
want me to infect the other children with
questions that couldn’t be answered, as
was my nature. My disease was an
unwillingness to be ignorant, as many
religions require for their supplicants.
When at home I usually would often
wander outside, well insulated in layers
of course, to play alone in the whiteness. I
made snowmen, snow angels, snow
devils, forts for one, and played in drifts
as high as some buildings. Sometimes
plows would push up snow in such
massive piles so high in parking lots that
I could never hope to climb them.
In my mind, they often seemed like giant
frozen waves, or white pristine tall
structures, just waiting for my creative
side to make them useful and fun.
That was the essence of my time outside
in winter. At that tender young age, I was
still getting used to things, the seasons,
the changes, my very young existence,
and learning about time itself. Summers
seemed to stretch for eternity, and
winters as well, school or no. Time passes
differently when you are younger; It
bends, plays around, twists, and
lengthens, until you get more years under
your belt. Once you are old enough, the
whole process flips. Then there’s never
enough years, and they go by far too
quickly. Lightning moves slower at that
point.
That time in 1977, the winter seemed like
forever, since everything was white, and
frozen far in advance. Snow was already
record high, and conditions were ripe for
a disaster of epic proportions in western
New York.
In December there was already high
levels of snow, and none of it was
melting. It stubbornly stayed everywhere,
like that gum on your shoe that just won’t
go away.
Due to the very low temperatures, the
snow stayed there. Average temps that
January were 10f, not much better than
December, in fact, it was a bit worse. It
snowed pretty much everyday that
month, almost nonstop.
There was an official snow depth of 60
inches, but to a kid, it was all the same. It
was white, very cold, and higher than my
head, that is all that really mattered to
me.
Schools closed in Buffalo sometimes,
however, since extreme snow and cold
was a normal part of life there, they
didn’t close as often as one would think.
That Friday, the very first day of the
blizzard, they should never have opened
in the first place, but they did sadly. To
the detriment of young lives, and the
forever shame of the city of Buffalo.
Many young kids were bussed into school
that morning, including myself. They had
warnings, but they went unheeded.
Luckily I lived a mere 7 blocks or so from
public school 77, although I still took the
bus, as did many other unfortunate
youngsters living on the west side of
Buffalo that year.
We arrived that morning, went to our
various classes, but within an hour or so,
we were all gathered in the school
auditorium for important
announcements.
Turns out during that short time, things
had taken an extreme turn for the worse.
Winds had risen to a very high speed,
piled show was blowing straight off of
Lake Erie into the city, adding
substantially to the snowfall already
coming from the heavens. It was destined
not just as a white blanket, but a final
shroud for many lives.
The powers that be made then the worst
decision in the history of Buffalo.
Visibility was down to almost zero, snow
on the streets was again piled high, and
they had no confidence in the yellow
buses getting through the routes
unscathed. However, the longer the
schools were open, the higher the snow,
and the less visible it was bound to get, so
the order came down from on high. Those
elite beings with the authority to make
such life changing decrees had decided
the fates of the very young. The schools
would close, and since the buses couldn’t
possibly make the return trip, the
students would be sent home on FOOT!
Among bad decisions in the history of
american public schools, this may have
been the worst possible decision that
anyone could have ever made, and was
destined to end in tears.
So from my perspective, I didn’t know
much, the what and why eluded my
young mind, but I do know I was ordered
to walk home, in snow and winds that
were so out of control I couldn’t see
across the street. It was that thick and
heavy, and deadly for a 7 year old small
boy, Death awaited, forever patient,and
coldly beckoning. So along with a number
of many other helpless children, I was
cast out to make my own way home. Some
kids were fortunate, their parents braved
the blizzard, and risked life and limb to
retrieve their beloved little ones, in cars
that slowly worked their way down
blinding white streets.
I was NOT one of those fortunates, I had
to do it myself, on foot, like much of my
life, I had to make my very own path,
though Death wanted me for his very
own.
So I was bundled, layered, then ousted
into the blizzard, to trudge slowly home,
through a deadly cold temperature, and
blindingly white desert, just waiting for
me to stop forever, and become a frozen
monument to nature’s harshness. I
refused to give in, after all, it was only
around 7 blocks, but some young children
did stop sadly, and died on various streets
of Buffalo, but never forgotten. I was
almost one of them. In fact I came a bit
too close that day. I walked, and struggled
and forced my way through it. My legs
were frozen, and numb, as well as my
hands, and my young face, which I could
not feel at all by this point.
The world was a white swirl, and getting
thicker as I walked. I navigated using
landmarks I knew well, and somehow
didn’t get lost, since it was a straight shot
to my block.
The cold was insidious, and relentless,
but so was I! Even at that age, I had a
powerful will to continue, though Death
himself was after me, as it claimed many
others that day. I made it a long way by
myself, no doubt, and I finally struggled
to the corner of my block, on Utica street.
There was a club on the corner called the
Utica club, which like the entire city, was
closed that day, but I took shelter in their
small doorway, exhausted beyond
measure, frozen, numb, and done for. I’d
had more than enough, and was quite
willing to give up the ghost finally. I was
frozen, tired, and exhausted, and had
quite enough by then.
After 7 blocks and fighting a force of
nature that killed many grownups, and a
number of children, I was done for. I
couldn’t feel my body at all, and tears
were frozen over my face, it was just
about the end, I would end up a frozen
boysicle after all it seemed. I was quite
ready to surrender to Death, I’d had quite
enough by then.
I was on my very corner, a mere block
away from a warm house,and life itself,
but the cold had sapped all my strength,
like a wintery vampire, latched onto my
lifeforce, intent on taking the rest of me. I
remember shivering in the doorway of
Club Utica, getting sleepy, and unable to
move. It was kind of a soporific feeling, I
was ready to drift away slowly, and let it
all go.
Throughout my whole chilly journey, I’d
not seen a living soul, besides the other
kids going their separate ways when the
school sent us into the blizzard. After the
first block, I was the only one the rest of
the long way home. I remember finding
the doorway, resting, and giving up the
ghost. My journey was at an end, I had no
more fight within me by that point.
My mother was many things throughout
my life, harridan, albatross, immoral
selfish being out only for herself, but on
that day, she did something worthy of
song and eternal memory, she saved my
life from the deadliest blizzard in Buffalo
history. It was her one act of selflessness
and goodness I can recall. She came to
look for her only son, and found him,
amazingly enough.
After I talked to her sisters (my aunts)
over the years, I’ve learned that my
mother was not known for her good
deeds, just the exact opposite. She was
always petty, selfish, and sometimes
downright spiteful, right from the
beginning.
However, on that morning, she did
something good. The school called her,as
it did all the parents, and informed her
that I was walking back, trying to make it
home alive, no credit to the sorry fucking
school system So there I was,on the very
corner of my block, about to give it up,
and surrender calmly to the cold hands of
Death himself, ready for me, as He is for
all of us ultimately.
He is our final companion, stoic,and
inevitable. Somehow I heard my name
being called on the wind, “Johnny”, over
and over, and I saw a large form making
its way through the snow. It was actually
my mother, and she stopped and looked
into my cold small doorway. She reached
down, covered head to toe, but I knew
who she was, and why she was there, for
me of course.
I was helped slowly to my feet, and Death
himself was denied an amazing prize that
day, even though I heard the howling of
the wind, angry, and somehow sounding
robbed that cold day. We slowly struggled
our way back home, hand in hand, very
cold but still amazingly alive. She opened
the door to our house, and I felt the
warmth immediately envelop me,
hugging me, and granting life itself. It
was like the sun on my face, warm, and
friendly.
Later on, there was Hell to pay. Some very
bad calls were made by the school system,
and some kids died in the storm,
inevitable I suppose. I count my blessings
often that I wasn’t among the dead of
that infamous blizzard, but it was close
one. The school board was summarily
sued, and lost, since there was no real
excuse for sending young helpless kids
out to walk home in one of the worst
blizzards America has ever seen, then,
and now.
All told, 23 souls were welcomed by
Death, many adults,frozen in their cars,
and some children on their way to homes
they would never reach. Unpardonable,
and unforgivable, a permanent black spot
on the reputation of Buffalo, NY. Some
deaths were unavoidable certainly, but
not those children, who were doomed to
walk home in such deadly conditions, it
should not have occurred.
I happily made it, and that was my
mother’s one true good deed throughout
her life that I know of. She only walked a
single block in the snow, and I walked 7,
but regardless, it’s the thought and deed
that will count in the end.
She risked herself once, selfless, for me,
and I will always remember that, no
matter what monstrous acts came later in
life; And there were plenty of those. I live
today, because of her one act of goodness,
so I relate this story to you in the exact
way I remember it happening.
I have no idea where she exists now,
Heaven or Hell, Purgatory or somewhere
else, or nowhere at all, but I forever
thank her for what she did that day in
Buffalo, during the horrifying Blizzard of
1977. Because of her actions that day, I
live to tell this tale.
Whiteness and Death
SIGN IN EN
Let me tell you about a time I came
amazingly close to death as a young boy.
Stick with me. I’d like to go back in time
now, far back. To an integral historical
event in Buffalo history, and for me
personally. Although my memories are
somewhat vague, it all happened so long
ago. It’s been an infamous part of local
history, as well as my own.
In the wintertime, late January 1977, we
had a unique blizzard, something so
powerful it’s never been seen in Buffalo
history, and nothing even close to it
since. The region has always been known
for snow, cold, and ice storms as well. As
far back as Buffalo existed, we’ve always
had serious winters. To live there was to
be part of it, embrace it, live it, or maybe
die in it. There was always snow at
varying heights, from October to March,
sometimes covering the windows to the
roof, it is still a way of life there.
No way around living with the snow
there. Sometimes it was too high for
plows to be even effective. Imagine front
doors unable to open due to high drifts, as
well as windows buried. Cars get covered
so they are but higher lumps of white on
an endless white sea, and if the snow is
high enough, often no lumps at all. Of
course, you usually couldn’t see the
streets themselves either. In fact, in those
circumstances, the only way you would
know you are actually on a street in the
first place is to notice those
aforementioned lumps or street signs and
lamps above the snow.
So, five to six months a year, it was just
business as usual. High snow ever
present was a fact of life next to Lake
Erie. A homeowner's best friend, as well
as a most dreaded tool, was the snow
shovel. A major cause of heart attacks as
well. Necessary, but utterly despised.
Of course, snow at any height above a
foot is a chore, no doubt, but ice can be
far more treacherous, and dangerous. I
come from the perspective of a lifetime
walker. You don’t merely walk through
high snow, you struggle, fight, and trudge
through it. There’s no easy path,
depending upon the height, drifts, and
layout of the freezing white curse.
Enough of it can inconvenience you, but
ice, that can easily kill you. Far more
vehicle accidents are caused by ice rather
than snow. Folks have cracked their
skulls by walking and slipping on ice.
Deaths are rare, but they have happened
from time to time.
That January in 77, there was already a
lot of snow covering Buffalo, long before
the blizzard happened. In December, the
lake was already solid ice, and snow was
piled high on the solid lake surface, and
all over the entire city of Buffalo well
over a month before the actual blizzard.
That was an abnormally cold winter, not
just in Western New York, but in multiple
places across America. It actually snowed
in Miami that winter, I can only imagine
the panic there, bikinis and cold usually
don’t mix.
Locally, that month was more than a bit
chilly, average temps were around 11F,
and it snowed aplenty. However, a child’s
perspective is much simpler, cold is cold,
regardless of the temperature number. It
was actually so cold that when I ventured
outside tears would immediately be shed,
and those tears would promptly freeze on
my face.
Quite brisk i’d say. Back then at seven
years old I enjoyed the snow, as a young
boy would, but not the extreme cold. I had
no desire to become a boysicle, frozen
forever in place. A distant kin to my
favorite dessert. Seemed like an
unpleasant way to end up for a seven
year old youngster. At that tender age, I
had no friends, just my horrid selfish
mother, and my incessant reading, those
were my only companions, I’m sorry to
say. I hated the early grades in public
schools, almost as much as later grades
from kindergarten on up. I never fitted in
with other kids, never just “one of the
boys”, even way back then.
I was a pariah, just for being myself. I
was too smart for my own good, very shy,
and different, with way too many
questions about the meaning of it all.
Other young kids would avoid me, or
laugh, and teachers would get flustered, I
didn’t exactly fit the standard mold. In
fact, I even have memories of being
ousted from sunday school when my
mother dragged me into church on
occasions. So I ended up sitting through
the adult services usually. They were far
more boring, but the instructors didn’t
want me to infect the other children with
questions that couldn’t be answered, as
was my nature. My disease was an
unwillingness to be ignorant, as many
religions require for their supplicants.
When at home I usually would often
wander outside, well insulated in layers
of course, to play alone in the whiteness. I
made snowmen, snow angels, snow
devils, forts for one, and played in drifts
as high as some buildings. Sometimes
plows would push up snow in such
massive piles so high in parking lots that
I could never hope to climb them.
In my mind, they often seemed like giant
frozen waves, or white pristine tall
structures, just waiting for my creative
side to make them useful and fun.
That was the essence of my time outside
in winter. At that tender young age, I was
still getting used to things, the seasons,
the changes, my very young existence,
and learning about time itself. Summers
seemed to stretch for eternity, and
winters as well, school or no. Time passes
differently when you are younger; It
bends, plays around, twists, and
lengthens, until you get more years under
your belt. Once you are old enough, the
whole process flips. Then there’s never
enough years, and they go by far too
quickly. Lightning moves slower at that
point.
That time in 1977, the winter seemed like
forever, since everything was white, and
frozen far in advance. Snow was already
record high, and conditions were ripe for
a disaster of epic proportions in western
New York.
In December there was already high
levels of snow, and none of it was
melting. It stubbornly stayed everywhere,
like that gum on your shoe that just won’t
go away.
Due to the very low temperatures, the
snow stayed there. Average temps that
January were 10f, not much better than
December, in fact, it was a bit worse. It
snowed pretty much everyday that
month, almost nonstop.
There was an official snow depth of 60
inches, but to a kid, it was all the same. It
was white, very cold, and higher than my
head, that is all that really mattered to
me.
Schools closed in Buffalo sometimes,
however, since extreme snow and cold
was a normal part of life there, they
didn’t close as often as one would think.
That Friday, the very first day of the
blizzard, they should never have opened
in the first place, but they did sadly. To
the detriment of young lives, and the
forever shame of the city of Buffalo.
Many young kids were bussed into school
that morning, including myself. They had
warnings, but they went unheeded.
Luckily I lived a mere 7 blocks or so from
public school 77, although I still took the
bus, as did many other unfortunate
youngsters living on the west side of
Buffalo that year.
We arrived that morning, went to our
various classes, but within an hour or so,
we were all gathered in the school
auditorium for important
announcements.
Turns out during that short time, things
had taken an extreme turn for the worse.
Winds had risen to a very high speed,
piled show was blowing straight off of
Lake Erie into the city, adding
substantially to the snowfall already
coming from the heavens. It was destined
not just as a white blanket, but a final
shroud for many lives.
The powers that be made then the worst
decision in the history of Buffalo.
Visibility was down to almost zero, snow
on the streets was again piled high, and
they had no confidence in the yellow
buses getting through the routes
unscathed. However, the longer the
schools were open, the higher the snow,
and the less visible it was bound to get, so
the order came down from on high. Those
elite beings with the authority to make
such life changing decrees had decided
the fates of the very young. The schools
would close, and since the buses couldn’t
possibly make the return trip, the
students would be sent home on FOOT!
Among bad decisions in the history of
american public schools, this may have
been the worst possible decision that
anyone could have ever made, and was
destined to end in tears.
So from my perspective, I didn’t know
much, the what and why eluded my
young mind, but I do know I was ordered
to walk home, in snow and winds that
were so out of control I couldn’t see
across the street. It was that thick and
heavy, and deadly for a 7 year old small
boy, Death awaited, forever patient,and
coldly beckoning. So along with a number
of many other helpless children, I was
cast out to make my own way home. Some
kids were fortunate, their parents braved
the blizzard, and risked life and limb to
retrieve their beloved little ones, in cars
that slowly worked their way down
blinding white streets.
I was NOT one of those fortunates, I had
to do it myself, on foot, like much of my
life, I had to make my very own path,
though Death wanted me for his very
own.
So I was bundled, layered, then ousted
into the blizzard, to trudge slowly home,
through a deadly cold temperature, and
blindingly white desert, just waiting for
me to stop forever, and become a frozen
monument to nature’s harshness. I
refused to give in, after all, it was only
around 7 blocks, but some young children
did stop sadly, and died on various streets
of Buffalo, but never forgotten. I was
almost one of them. In fact I came a bit
too close that day. I walked, and struggled
and forced my way through it. My legs
were frozen, and numb, as well as my
hands, and my young face, which I could
not feel at all by this point.
The world was a white swirl, and getting
thicker as I walked. I navigated using
landmarks I knew well, and somehow
didn’t get lost, since it was a straight shot
to my block.
The cold was insidious, and relentless,
but so was I! Even at that age, I had a
powerful will to continue, though Death
himself was after me, as it claimed many
others that day. I made it a long way by
myself, no doubt, and I finally struggled
to the corner of my block, on Utica street.
There was a club on the corner called the
Utica club, which like the entire city, was
closed that day, but I took shelter in their
small doorway, exhausted beyond
measure, frozen, numb, and done for. I’d
had more than enough, and was quite
willing to give up the ghost finally. I was
frozen, tired, and exhausted, and had
quite enough by then.
After 7 blocks and fighting a force of
nature that killed many grownups, and a
number of children, I was done for. I
couldn’t feel my body at all, and tears
were frozen over my face, it was just
about the end, I would end up a frozen
boysicle after all it seemed. I was quite
ready to surrender to Death, I’d had quite
enough by then.
I was on my very corner, a mere block
away from a warm house,and life itself,
but the cold had sapped all my strength,
like a wintery vampire, latched onto my
lifeforce, intent on taking the rest of me. I
remember shivering in the doorway of
Club Utica, getting sleepy, and unable to
move. It was kind of a soporific feeling, I
was ready to drift away slowly, and let it
all go.
Throughout my whole chilly journey, I’d
not seen a living soul, besides the other
kids going their separate ways when the
school sent us into the blizzard. After the
first block, I was the only one the rest of
the long way home. I remember finding
the doorway, resting, and giving up the
ghost. My journey was at an end, I had no
more fight within me by that point.
My mother was many things throughout
my life, harridan, albatross, immoral
selfish being out only for herself, but on
that day, she did something worthy of
song and eternal memory, she saved my
life from the deadliest blizzard in Buffalo
history. It was her one act of selflessness
and goodness I can recall. She came to
look for her only son, and found him,
amazingly enough.
After I talked to her sisters (my aunts)
over the years, I’ve learned that my
mother was not known for her good
deeds, just the exact opposite. She was
always petty, selfish, and sometimes
downright spiteful, right from the
beginning.
However, on that morning, she did
something good. The school called her,as
it did all the parents, and informed her
that I was walking back, trying to make it
home alive, no credit to the sorry fucking
school system So there I was,on the very
corner of my block, about to give it up,
and surrender calmly to the cold hands of
Death himself, ready for me, as He is for
all of us ultimately.
He is our final companion, stoic,and
inevitable. Somehow I heard my name
being called on the wind, “Johnny”, over
and over, and I saw a large form making
its way through the snow. It was actually
my mother, and she stopped and looked
into my cold small doorway. She reached
down, covered head to toe, but I knew
who she was, and why she was there, for
me of course.
I was helped slowly to my feet, and Death
himself was denied an amazing prize that
day, even though I heard the howling of
the wind, angry, and somehow sounding
robbed that cold day. We slowly struggled
our way back home, hand in hand, very
cold but still amazingly alive. She opened
the door to our house, and I felt the
warmth immediately envelop me,
hugging me, and granting life itself. It
was like the sun on my face, warm, and
friendly.
Later on, there was Hell to pay. Some very
bad calls were made by the school system,
and some kids died in the storm,
inevitable I suppose. I count my blessings
often that I wasn’t among the dead of
that infamous blizzard, but it was close
one. The school board was summarily
sued, and lost, since there was no real
excuse for sending young helpless kids
out to walk home in one of the worst
blizzards America has ever seen, then,
and now.
All told, 23 souls were welcomed by
Death, many adults,frozen in their cars,
and some children on their way to homes
they would never reach. Unpardonable,
and unforgivable, a permanent black spot
on the reputation of Buffalo, NY. Some
deaths were unavoidable certainly, but
not those children, who were doomed to
walk home in such deadly conditions, it
should not have occurred.
I happily made it, and that was my
mother’s one true good deed throughout
her life that I know of. She only walked a
single block in the snow, and I walked 7,
but regardless, it’s the thought and deed
that will count in the end.
She risked herself once, selfless, for me,
and I will always remember that, no
matter what monstrous acts came later in
life; And there were plenty of those. I live
today, because of her one act of goodness,
so I relate this story to you in the exact
way I remember it happening.
I have no idea where she exists now,
Heaven or Hell, Purgatory or somewhere
else, or nowhere at all, but I forever
thank her for what she did that day in
Buffalo, during the horrifying Blizzard of
1977. Because of her actions that day, I
live to tell this tale.
@Orzmund thoughts?
B
I wanted to, but that wall of text is a strain on the eyes - literally.
ALL books/stories are text/words, that's kinda the point. However, Id suggest reading the actual story at the link, not the repost by someone else, Because I don't DO "walls of text". I have paragraphs, short sentences, etc.. The repost doesnt show this. Click on link, and goto the Published story, and you'll see.
B
OK, I read your story. What now?
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What the hell is wrong with you? Oh yeah, just born a jerk. Got it. Should be SUPPORTING your fellow incels, not insulting them. Shame.
B
It's harmless ribbing, not malicious. You should learn to take these sort of comments in stride and not let it get to you.
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