2025-2026, Flash Fiction

"Through the Frosted Glass" – Alexandra Hoe '28

The windows of the home were caked so heavily with frost and snow that it was impossible to see out. The storm had been the longest for years, and snow had gradually risen to graze even the windows of the home.

Years ago, snow like this, in an unending white sheet, meant certain death seeping relentlessly from skin to bone. But the siblings had grown up in a time of indoor heating, insulation, and hot coffee.

The brother put his finger against the window and traced a circle, feeling the cold seep in. The sister reached over, taking off a mitten, and added a mouth and eyes.

Both stared at the window as the circle disappeared.

“If it gets much higher, we might be able to step out from the roof!” said one.

“I guess that’d be it. Any regrets?” the other said, curling their parka closer. 

They were silent for some time, cold seeping from the window deep into their bones.

“I regret that we never got to live in a house.”

They were silent again.

Then, grasping each other for warmth, like voles in the snow, they descended countless floors of steel girders, broken elevators, and frosted windows.