HOL

It’s getting chilly in the Book Club this month. Temperature is a very useful tool in the writer’s arsenal as it’s one of the best ways to force your reader to put themselves in the characters shoes. Though none of us (I hope) has ever encountered a dementor, it’s incredibly easy to relate to the feeling that you’ll never be warm again

This prompt is pretty simple. We’d like you to write a story or scene (200 words or more) where you use temperature to either advance the plot or make your writing more real for your reader. Remember that vivid description and using all your protagonists senses will help a lot with this.

You’ll earn 20 beans for completing this prompt as well as it counting towards the chance to snag our shiny Quill and Ink award.

There is no deadline as such for these prompts but if you’d like it to count towards your chance of earning the award for a specific year, we’ll need it by the end of that school year. If you’re comfortable sharing, then post below. If not, email your story to us via hol.bookclub @ gmail.com (without the spaces). Oh and remember it’s a good idea to check through your piece carefully for spelling and grammatical errors as they make it harder for people to properly enjoy your work.

A chill told him that it was all over. No one would ever find him again. The unfortunate raft had been overturned by a wave and he was in the sea, clinging on to the raft with both hands for dear life. His cheeks felt a chill. His hands were so cold and numb that he could not feel the presence of his fingers. A look at his bluish appendages told him that his fingers were still there holding the edge of the raft. His whole body felt so cold that it felt like all the parts of his body wanted to hug each other, and he was shivering uncontrollably. He took a deep breath and made a supreme effort to pull himself back up on the raft. If he could get to so much as an island, he could at least build a fire to warm himself up. With his last energy, he scrambled back up on the raft, and through the sense of relief, he forgot for a while that he had been in the cold water. When he remembered it, the chills came back and he had to hug himself tight. There was an iceberg some two or three miles away, no wonder the water there was so cold. He rowed with all his might, propelling his raft towards the opposite direction from the iceberg. The effort made him warmer and he kept rowing, more to keep warm than to get anywhere, because for miles and miles on the cold ocean, he could see no sign of land or any ships, no humans, not even an island. The cold was slowly beginning to diffuse, and not just from the constant rowing that had tired out his muscles by now, but from the first golden rays of the Sun that were beginning to show up at the horizon. Dawn broke upon the sky and ocean in a few minutes, and some warmth began to replace the incessant chills. He looked at the Sun which now looked like hope and faith and salvation, and prayed with all his might for the Sun to relieve him from the crippling cold. As if in answer to his prayer, just in front of the Sun at the horizon, appeared what seemed like a bird at first, which then became noisier and then took shape into a full helicopter. A rescue party had been sent for him, and he was to be saved. He was saved. Nothing could explain the delight and warmth that spread across his heart, as if fighting a battle against the villainous cold that he had endured all night, to rescue him.