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White death all around us. Nowhere to run. The Klondikes were coming and there was no way to stop them. They were everywhere and we had no way to avoid them or ward them off. The snow was falling from the sky, nearly concealing them in its glow. The radiance of the light reflecting off the incandescent crystallized water gave them an illusionary appearance of goodness and an illusion of grace, as if they were angels coming across the field in all their belligerent glory and shining armor. This was all a facade, though. These creatures were anything but angels. In fact, the only thing they shared with the heavenly host was a warlike nature. These creatures were killing machines. Their most powerful attack, the age old question, “What would you do for a Klondike bar?” was unavoidable and caused even the most experienced soldiers to succumb to the icy treat.
Through it all, we stood our ground against them. We had to fight for our homeland and all that we believed in. There was nothing they were fighting for. They didn’t have a homeland; the Klondikes had simply emerged one day from the darkness. From the depths of dairy despair, they climbed, until they reached the light and the rest of civilization. Now, we were holding on to our lives and the very basis of our society by a frayed rope. There was naught but a thread attaching us to the corporeal world and holding us away from the Klondike-spawning depths.
Some believed that they could be reasoned with, but I knew better. They were mindless beasts who stopped at nothing to ask the same question every single day to everyone in sight. There wasn’t anything we could do to stop them, but diplomacy vanished from our arsenal the moment it was suggested. People in this community had perished pursuing this crazy dream of making an alliance with logic. There was no way to stray from the path of doing anything and everything for a Klondike bar.
My men and I were at our last hopes. The Klondikes swarmed us, staring and sauntering like ravenous bears. Just as their frosted clutches were upon us, we heard a voice from above; it sounded like an angel.
“Nick, Tristin, it’s time for lunch! Come on in!”
And just like that, the Klondikes were gone. It was just Tristin and I, sitting in the deep snow with tree branches and trash can covers in our hands. We rejoiced, put down our weapons, and ran inside for a victory meal.