The Stasis of Snowdrift

Bobby and his exasperated family find themselves marooned in the Winnipeg train station, Christmas plans dissolving into a humourous, yet increasingly tense, waiting game against a relentless winter storm.

“Are you sure it’s not moving?” Bobby’s voice was a flat whine, barely audible over the general drone of the Winnipeg train station. His right knee bounced a restless rhythm against the scuffed linoleum, a habit his mum always threatened to cure with a cattle prod.

Sunnie, perched on the edge of a plastic bench, didn’t even look up from her phone. Her thumb flew across the screen, a flurry of passive-aggressive texts probably aimed at her boyfriend. “Bobby, darling, when the announcement says ‘indefinite delay due to extreme weather conditions,’ it generally means ‘not moving’. It’s not a cryptic riddle from a badger.”

Marvin, their ten-year-old cousin, snorted. He was slumped in the seat opposite, an unlaced boot tapping against the plastic, making a dull, hollow thud. “Badger. Good one, Sunnie. At least *someone’s* brain hasn’t entirely frozen over.” He picked at a loose thread on his oversized hoodie, then sniffed the air. “Smells like old socks and disappointment in here.”

“Oh, I think that’s just you, sweetie,” Sunnie muttered, finally glancing up. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were rimmed with a faint red. The lack of sleep was evident. “Bobby, stop vibrating. You’re going to shake the whole station off its foundations. Then we’ll *really* be stuck.”

Bobby sighed, a deep, theatrical sound that pulled at his tight chest. He leaned his head back against the wall, the cheap paint cool against his scalp. He could feel the fine grit of dust in his hair, probably from the hundreds of people who’d shared this bench. His phone, a dead weight in his pocket, felt like a miniature coffin for his connection to the outside world. Christmas. It was meant to be Christmas Eve. They were meant to be halfway to Churchill by now, probably arguing about who got the window seat, not staring at a departures board that seemed to be actively mocking them.

A distant, garbled voice crackled over the loudspeaker, promising a ‘further update in approximately two hours.’ A collective groan rippled through the waiting area, a sound Bobby was rapidly becoming intimately familiar with. It was the sound of hope dying a slow, public death.

“Two hours? Again?” Marvin pushed himself up, his lanky frame unfolding like a rusty camping chair. “I’m starving. Is there anything left in that sad little Tim Hortons? Or did the snow devour all the bagels?”

“I think it’s just the ‘disappointment’ smell left, Marvin,” Sunnie said, but she was already rising. “Alright, Bobby, up you get. Operation: Scavenge for Sustenance. And maybe a working charging port. This thing’s on five percent and I need to tell Mum I’m still alive, or she’ll send out a search party equipped with snowmobiles and a very loud megaphone.”

Bobby reluctantly unwound himself from the bench. His jeans felt stiff, his back ached from the weird angle he’d been slouching at. He rubbed his temples. “Do you think Aunt Elizabeth will be okay? She’s been in the washroom for, like, an hour.”

Sunnie waved a dismissive hand. “She’s probably trying to knit a new festive scarf out of toilet paper. She’ll be fine. Mum says Elizabeth gets her best creative inspiration when she’s stressed.”

They navigated the maze of sleeping bags, overloaded luggage carts, and families huddled under blankets. A small child, no older than three, was attempting to scale a pillar, much to the weary amusement of his parents. The air was thick with unspoken anxieties, but also a strange, communal patience. Everyone here was in the same boat, or rather, the same hopelessly docked train.

---

### The Barren Oasis

The Tim Hortons line snaked back to the main doors, a testament to the universal human need for caffeine and something resembling warmth. The display cases were mostly barren, a few forlorn-looking muffins and a single, crusty apple fritter staring back at them like forgotten relics.

“This is bleak,” Marvin declared, peering over the shoulder of a man with an enormous beard. “I saw a pigeon try to eat a plastic wrapper five minutes ago. I think we’re going to have to resort to foraging in the lost and found for forgotten crisps.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Sunnie said, though her own stomach gave a quiet rumble. “We’ll get coffee. And maybe they have a chocolate chip cookie hiding somewhere.” She scanned the far wall, eyes narrowed. “Ooh, look! An empty charging port! Victory is mine!”

She made a beeline for it, Bobby and Marvin trailing behind. The port was indeed empty, nestled between a vending machine plastered with an ‘Out of Order’ sign and a slightly-too-loud television playing a loop of local news. As Sunnie reached out, a middle-aged man with a slicked-back comb-over and an impeccably clean puffer jacket suddenly lunged, a multi-port charger clutched in his hand.

“Ah, I believe this one is mine,” he declared, his voice thin and reedy. He eyed Sunnie’s phone like it was a contagion. “Reserved it. Mentally.”

Sunnie blinked. “Excuse me? Mentally? Sir, it’s a public outlet. And it’s empty.”

“The moment I saw it, it became mine,” he insisted, attempting to plug in his three devices simultaneously. One of the plugs sparked with a faint, alarming fizzle. “One must assert oneself in these trying times.”

Bobby stepped forward. “Look, mate, we’ve been waiting for hours. My cousin just needs to send a text. It’ll take thirty seconds. You can have it back.”

“Young man, I have vital emails concerning a very important quarterly report!” the man puffed, his face turning a blotchy red. “The fate of corporate synergy hangs in the balance!”

Marvin, ever the instigator, piped up, “Wow, sounds like a really exciting quarterly report. Is it about how many times you can say ‘synergy’ in a single sentence?”

The man spluttered, momentarily speechless. Sunnie used the distraction to deftly plug her phone into the outlet. A tiny green light glowed to life. “Ah, there we go. Thank you, for your mental reservation, I suppose.” She gave him a sweet, saccharine smile. “We’ll just borrow it for a moment. Synergy, you know.”

The man huffed, snatched his multi-charger, and stalked off, muttering about 'entitled youth'. Bobby bit back a laugh. Marvin gave Sunnie a high-five, which she accepted with a triumphant grin.

---

### An Unwieldy Cheer

They eventually found Aunt Elizabeth, beaming from a plastic chair near the station’s main entrance, attempting to teach a group of bewildered passengers how to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ in four-part harmony. She had a small, slightly squashed gingerbread man in her hand, which she offered to Bobby.

“Oh, there you are, my little snow angels!” Aunt Elizabeth chirped, her voice a little off-key but undeniably cheerful. Her knitted hat, adorned with a jaunty pom-pom, sat slightly askew. “I was just trying to spread some festive cheer! Morale, you know. It’s absolutely vital!”

“Aunt Elizabeth, please tell me you haven’t started a flash mob,” Sunnie said, taking a wary sip of her lukewarm coffee. The gingerbread man was surprisingly good.

“Just a little sing-song!” she insisted, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’re a community now, stuck together in this glorious, snowy adventure! Think of the stories we’ll tell! Remember that Christmas when the train was two days late and we all learned to juggle with our luggage?”

Bobby munched on his gingerbread man. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s going to be juggling, Aunt B. They just want their warm beds and their PlayStation.” He paused, then added, “And maybe some actual food.”

The station lights, usually a bright, functional white, seemed to flicker for a second, casting long, wavering shadows. The wind outside howled, a deep, mournful sound that felt like it was trying to get *in*. Bobby shivered, though the station was far from cold. It was a different kind of chill. A creeping sensation that maybe this wasn't just a funny anecdote for future Christmas dinners.

“Look,” Marvin pointed to the large, frosted window, wiping a circle clear with his sleeve. Outside, the world was a featureless white blur. It was impossible to tell where the ground ended and the sky began. The snow wasn't falling in individual flakes; it was a solid, moving wall. “That’s… a lot of snow.”

Aunt Elizabeth’s cheerful facade wavered for a fraction of a second, her smile tightening. “Oh, it’s just a little Winnipeg winter wonder, dear. Adds to the charm! We’ll be home before you can say ‘carolling kettle’.” She squeezed Bobby’s arm, her grip surprisingly firm. “We always find our way home, eventually.”

But as she spoke, a new voice cut through the loudspeaker’s static, clearer this time, and laced with a new, unwelcome solemnity. “Attention all passengers. We regret to inform you that due to continued extreme weather conditions and deteriorating track visibility, all outbound services from Winnipeg will be suspended indefinitely. Furthermore, the local authorities have advised all non-essential personnel to remain indoors. We anticipate further updates… at a later time. Please remain calm.”

The last phrase, ‘Please remain calm,’ was a clear giveaway. No one was calm. A murmur, deeper and more agitated than before, rose through the station. Bags were clutched tighter. Faces, previously resigned, now looked genuinely panicked. Bobby’s own stomach did a sickening flip. Indefinitely. That wasn't just a delay anymore. This was… something else.

He looked at Sunnie, whose phone had dropped forgotten into her lap, her eyes wide. Then at Marvin, whose usual smirk had vanished, replaced by a pale, uncertain frown. And Aunt Elizabeth, who, for the first time since they’d arrived, had no ready quip, no forced cheer. Just a quiet, unsettling silence.

The lights flickered again, longer this time, plunging a section of the station into momentary gloom before humming back to life. But for that brief, terrifying second, Bobby had felt it: a profound, cold isolation, as if the very world outside had decided to swallow them whole, and the train station, for all its warmth and people, was just a brightly lit, fragile box against an encroaching, endless night.

What if the snow didn't stop? What if they were truly stuck here, forgotten in the heart of winter, their Christmas lost not just to a delay, but to something far more permanent, a cold embrace from which there was no escape?

---

### The Looming Blizzard

The next hour passed in a haze of hushed conversations and the rhythmic thump of a snowplough struggling somewhere outside. The news report on the station’s communal television, previously a gentle background hum, now showed ominous red warnings scrolling across the screen. Snowfall warnings had turned into blizzard advisories, and advisories into full-blown emergency declarations. The train, a symbol of passage, now felt like a prison. Bobby watched as a maintenance worker struggled to re-secure a flapping banner near the main entrance, the gust of wind that pushed through the gap chilling him to the bone despite his heavy jacket.

He saw a young mother trying to comfort her wailing baby, her face etched with exhaustion. An elderly couple, their hands clasped, stared blankly at the snow-choked windows. The initial humour had evaporated, replaced by a palpable tension that settled over the station like a fresh layer of frost. Bobby pulled his phone out again, though it was still dead. He just liked the feel of it, the familiar weight, the cold glass that usually connected him to everything. Now it was just a useless slab of tech. He thought of his parents, waiting for them, probably worried sick. He tried to imagine their faces, their voices, but the storm seemed to be pulling everything familiar away, one by one.

Sunnie was still staring at her phone, but she wasn’t typing. She was just holding it, tracing patterns on the dark screen with her thumb. Marvin, usually an endless fount of sarcastic remarks, was quiet, meticulously stacking discarded sugar packets into a precarious tower. Aunt Elizabeth had stopped trying to sing. She was simply observing the room, her eyes darting from face to face, a deep worry line etched between her eyebrows. The cheerful 'Christmas adventure' had definitely lost its sparkle. Bobby noticed the distinct smell of burning wood now, a faint, acrid scent that hinted at a fireplace somewhere, trying to fight the creeping cold.

He looked back at the windows, now almost completely obscured by layers of snow and ice. The world outside had ceased to exist, replaced by a solid, impenetrable white. He realised they weren't just waiting for a train; they were waiting for the storm to break, for the world to let them go. And the world, it seemed, wasn't in a hurry.

His gaze lingered on the far end of the concourse, where a heavy, red emergency door stood slightly ajar. A trickle of icy wind snaked through the gap, carrying with it a faint, metallic clang, not unlike the sound of an old, heavy chain being dragged. He shivered again, a primal, unsettling tremor that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was a sound that didn't belong in a bustling station, a sound that spoke of something cold and utterly final, lurking just beyond the threshold.

The train station, once a temporary refuge, now felt like a fragile, brightly lit box, with the vast, hungry Canadian winter pressing in on all sides.

And for the first time, Bobby didn't just feel annoyed about missing Christmas. He felt a prickle of genuine fear.

The sound repeated, a dull, resonant clank, and he swore he saw the heavy door shift almost imperceptibly, as if something from the frozen expanse outside was pressing against it, patiently, relentlessly, determined to find a way in.

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