Storm (G/T)

The unnerving silence of winter break pressed in, amplified by the thick snowfall piling against my windowsill. Outside, the blizzard howled, swirling snow into living drifts. Beautiful, yet a clear sign to stay indoors for days.
Then, the house creaked. Not the usual settling, but a loud, ominous groan that rattled the very frames. This old, dilapidated place wasn't built for such a storm. My phone flashed -5°F, dropping further with each reload. Just as I registered the plummeting temperature, a massive cracking sound tore through the air.
My phone flew from my hand. The front door had burst open, unleashing a shocking torrent of snow into the house. I scrambled to close it, but the lock was shot. With a desperate heave, I wedged it shut with two tennis shoes, only for the door to physically crack, then fall off its hinges, exposing me fully to the frigid air. A sudden gust shattered the windows, and snow began to reclaim my home. This house wouldn't survive.
Packing essentials into my school backpack – phone, charger, money, rations, medicine, a box of band-aids – I scanned the room. My eyes landed on the switchblade. Not for fighting, I thought, just for the snow. But then another loud crack echoed, and the walls themselves began to split. Better get out before I was crushed.
Reaching the door frame, my hand rested on the side where the hinges had been. Another crack sounded. I turned back, grabbed the knife, and stepped out into the storm.
