Just Write Monday: Slush


Back to reality, oh there goes gravity…

Who just sang that in their heads in Eminem’s voice? Anyway. Back to the reality of Just Write Monday! I’ve had two weeks off due to hospital visits and Easter, so let’s get back into the rhythm of a weekly prompt and writing exercise. This week’s is slush and you can find the definition in the sidebar.

Feel free to write your take on this word and place it in the comments section. Feedback is appreciated on my piece, and it will also be given to anyone else’s work.

Happy writing!


The children are bouncing in their car seats. Day-old sultanas and bits of broken muesli bars are slowly being worked through the crevices of the covers, to be found by mum in two weeks time, mouldy and looking not at all like the foods they were meant to be.

Excitement can be found on the sleepy faces of the two kids who have just awoken from the windy drive up the mountain, and it is hard not for their parents to be caught up in the rush. “Can we go, can we see the snow?” says the smallest child.

“Jackets, gloves, beanies first.”

Dad twists around in his seat to face the kids and checks that they are following these instructions – any other time and they would need to be told three times with threats of smacks or not joining it, but it’s a miracle today, he thinks.

One… two kids eject themselves from the car at break-neck speed. Mum and dad get out a bit more slowly, “Holy crap, it’s cold!”

“Come here and I’ll do your jackets up,” mum calls out to the kids who seemingly aren’t feeling the frigid temperatures. They bounce over and their blue eyes are shining. “It’s a bit cold, Mum!”


It’s quiet inside. Nearing the end of the ski season, there are only a few employees remaining. The slush outside of the building is far from the fluffy snow it once was. This brown-tinged, dodgy-looking watery mess however, was once snow, and for the two children this fact is more than enough to keep them happy.

The toboggans make their way down the hill many, many times in the next hour. Dad is worn out before the kids – they aren’t the ones who have to drag the ‘boggan’s back up to the top. Mum is back inside the warm building. No coffee to stay toasty-warm though – the café cart has long since been boarded up until the next season.

She looks down through the hole she has left as a breather in the top of her jacket. The next in line to go tobogganing in years to come is sound asleep in the baby carrier. “That’ll be you one day. Who cares about slush? It’s still snow!”

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