Winter Awakening

[Lincolnshirelass]

(this is an expansion and adaptation of an idea I played with in a forum about opening lines...)

Hannah had always had a habit of lying still and silent for a minute or so on waking. It ran in the family. Her grandmother Ruby had called it 'soaking' - soaking in the atmosphere and the possibilities of the day before rousing yourself and facing it. It was never for too long, and she never fell back asleep, but she hated it when she was deprived of this brief interlude before the start of a new day, whether the day would be enjoyable or trying.
How would today be, she wondered, trying to muster her thoughts as she snuggled into the bed covers, glad of their warmth and softness. She could already see the frost flowers on the window outside and a few hesitant flakes of snow drifted past, white onto white, the kind of snowflakes that could either signify the onset of a blizzard or nothing at all. I wonder if it will stick, she thought.
Her next thought was one of pulsating panic coupled with disbelief. I must still be dreaming, she thought. That's what it is, I'm still dreaming. Let's try that old cliche out. But in truth she had no need to pinch her arm because she knew she was not dreaming. She was entirely awake, and still cocooned in the covers at the start of a winter's day.
Well, there was nothing wrong with that. Hannah liked winter. Her best friend Lulu had often rolled her eyes in disbelief that anyone could prefer winter to summer. She had said so only the previous day, playfully teasing her friend as they parted on the way from work.
The previous day - when the sun was shining radiantly in a white-hot afternoon sky, sending a heat haze across the roofs and streets of the little university town where they lived. Even Lulu, the sun-worshipper, had been driven to admit that it was a trifle humid. She'd never admit to it being too hot. There would be thunder soon, they agreed.
It was true the weather could play some very odd tricks, Hannah told herself. You tried to rationalise such things. But there was nothing you could rationalise about this situation.
Now feeling even colder she pulled the covers protectively round herself, and her fingers registered the strangeness, registered what was and yet could not be, before her conscious mind did. They did not stroke and cling to her pale blue cotton duvet, but to a heavy, russet-coloured cover - the word counterpane suddenly sprung to mind, and she wondered where she had heard it.
Then she remembered. Her grandmother had owned such a counterpane, and to her dying day had sworn it was more cosy and warming than any of those modern duvets.
There was a perfunctory knock at the door and her mother came in, already dressed.
Except - and it took her a split second to register it, a split second that seemed like an eternity - this woman was not her mother. She could not recall her mother wearing a dress, let alone a long one that hung to her ankles. 'Come on, Ruby girl,' the woman who was familiar and not familar said, 'Time to get the breakfast cooking ....'

[DATo]

I like the way you have structured this. It is a very good description of those first sentient moments after waking. I don't know if this is just an exercise or if it is to be considered a complete story. The reason I say this is because I am having trouble rationalizing the ending and determining the significance of the woman who has just entered the room. Have I missed something? In your intro you did say that this was meant as an expansion regarding opening lines. I must say that it does work. It certainly beguiles the reader into wanting more explanation as evidenced by my expressed curiosity.

Very nicely written by the way.

[Lincolnshirelass]

Hi, @DATo! Thanks as ever for your interest! It may eventually become a complete story or even (deep breath!) a novel. I'm experimenting with time-travel which I know is a device that needs to be used carefully, with Hannah morphing into her grandmother Ruby and exploring an unsolved mystery.

[DATo]

Hi, @DATo! Thanks as ever for your interest! It may eventually become a complete story or even (deep breath!) a novel. I'm experimenting with time-travel which I know is a device that needs to be used carefully, with Hannah morphing into her grandmother Ruby and exploring an unsolved mystery.

I have always been fascinated with "time travel" conceit stories. You are probably familiar with Audrey Niffenegger's novel, The Time Traveler's Wife which I thought was a very well presented "logic" behind what would otherwise be a very difficult to defend premise; in fact, I think it was one of the best I have ever read. My only problem with the book in general was Niffenegger's penchant for becoming very absorbed in the digressions with pages of narration about wine, cuisine, and pottery making.

[Butch Acuna]

An excellent narrative of young girl's innate feelings, about what may seem to be trivial things, about, winter, friends, family and enjoy ment of being alive and young. But these trivial things are like soothing words for those who are in dire situations such as refugees of conflicts, it give them an escape from reality. I know because I so much failures and frustrations, enough to bring down the morale of anyone, but whenever I read the stories of successful personalities, such as the Curie's, Nadia Comanechi, etc. I pray and thank God that not like me, a failure, I asked God to take back my life, it is enough for me that I take to my grave the stories of people that I thought was impossible to attain, so be it, please continue your pursuit to create what seems to trivial matters, who knows if there might be a valuable gem among those trivial things.