[ WP ] Your Father owns a small chain of ski resorts , and one of the oldest locations has gone belly up . In the month after closing you secretly begin turning on the lifts for just yourself . One day you become aware of how alone you are . On the side of a mountain that nobody has reason to visit .

The chair creaks as I'm lifted up the side of the mountain. The only sound I can hear is the sound of the old wood and steel. Just me and the mountain. Just me and MY mountain. I know this rock like a brother. A somewhat older brother, but still. 
 
 As I'm slowly floating up the hillside I notice a flash of color in the woods to my left, outside of the slopes. Red. 
 
 Theres no red in the woods. Not these woods. I rip the googles off of my face, the light is dull and grey, removing the googles does n't help. Overcast. 
 
 I scan the slopes ahead of me for tracks. No one have disturbed last nights snow. Besides, this resort is 30 miles away from the nearest glimmer of civilization, one road in, and I sleep right next to it. I would have heard anyone coming in. 
 
 The color vanished as quickly as it appeared. Must have been my imagination. 
 
 The lift deposits me safely at the top. I stop and stare down the slopes. Pristine. Solitary. Perfect. 
 The snow is powdery, and crumbles perfectly under my skis. 
 
 The lifts rattle by, my breath hangs in the air and I set out down the slope. My telemark turns are less then perfect, but i enjoy the long turns, the strain on my knees. 
 
 There it was again! A flash of red in the woods to my right. I twist my head to see better, and at the same time my bindings snag. As I tumble I realize two things. This is going to hurt. And that flash of red was a little girl, in a summer dress.
