Prompt 63 - Snow Day

A giant somersault from the top of a rickety dresser. The expanse of a childhood caught away in the air of a single moment, frozen. Snow falls heavily outdoors, freezing to the bottom of the windows; no school. An imaginary crowd of thousands surround the queen sized bed that acts as our ring. I can hear them cheering as I float through air. The smell of pancakes and syrup filters down the hallway and through the door. My brother lays on the bed, bracing himself for impact in a pair of hand-me-down pajamas that are a little too tight. As I spin in the air, the bed floating into view I am unaware that moments like these don't linger. They are not frozen for all time. Circumstances change, people change. And I would not always be the big brother that I once was, only pretending to hit in a make believe wrestling match. Trust is lost far more easily than it is gained, and I've lost more than my share. Yet rebuild it I must. You only get one family, and as I fall to the bed, time unfrozen, I crush mine beneath a massive, flying elbow drop. My mother hollers unconvincingly down the hall to “cut it out and come eat.” We rush to the kitchen, warm in our home on a snow day.