Source: Flash Fiction Challenge
Prompt: Write a story without ice.
Word count: 99 words
Ice. The old-timers spoke the word, reverently. The miracle from their childhood, they waited for it each fall. Water buckets outside the door told them when to don sweaters and hunt for a sheet of holy grail on reservoirs, playgrounds, and ponds. Skates slung over their shoulders, twigs in their hands they gathered for a barnburner and the immortal words, “He shoots. He scores.”
They spoke of gods named Chelios, Esposito, Hall, Horton, Howe, Hull, Mikita, Orr and the Great One—Gretzky. Masters from a vanished game.
Zambonis sat silent and “top shelf” was now Hennessy straight, no Gretzky.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer