Prologue, maybe an introduction to what I'm writing next.
It was the last day of fall and I was spending it outside. Although it was only labeled as such for the invented conceptualization of a timeline. After all, today was feeling no colder or no different just because we marked it as the bridge between seasons. A personal expectation of winter, however, was affecting my emotional state. It was my favorite time of the year, especially with the snow.
For most people it was the Christmas Spirit that excited them. That was not the case with me. I enjoyed the holiday well enough, mainly the gifting part, but the premier attraction for me was nature's annual funeral performed in white.
The atmosphere did not affect me in a physical sense, which I liked to believe was due to literally being born in the snow. According to my uncle, who was informed by his cop husband, my mother gave birth to me in a snowbank. She was found dead and I was found with my tiny infant mouth attached to her breast.
They disliked me being out there without a sweater and a jacket, but they had finally accepted it. In the same way they eventually accepted my passion for a cold season that had no heart unless symbolically attributed by a human need for meaning to be found in absolutely everything.
They liked to believe their opinions were a secret, but secrets could not be kept in a house with surprisingly thin walls. According to their whispers, I should have been disgusted with the season just because it took my mother's life. As though losing out on her love was supposed to have made me abhor those months at the end of each year.
The ice crystals beneath my feet made a satisfying crunching sound as I walked through a tranquil wooded wonderland. More satisfying was how my arms, back, and legs burned as I dragged a couple of dead bodies behind me. It was weird how they became heavier when life left them. They lost something yet they did not become lighter.
Mind boggling. Like what was happening with the light of day. It was something common heavy cloud cover could not explain, and the sudden arrival of darkness had me suspicious.
Looking up, there was no time allowed to register the incoming disaster before the wave hit me.
It was the last day of fall and I was spending it outside. Although it was only labeled as such for the invented conceptualization of a timeline. After all, today was feeling no colder or no different just because we marked it as the bridge between seasons. A personal expectation of winter, however, was affecting my emotional state. It was my favorite time of the year, especially with the snow.
For most people it was the Christmas Spirit that excited them. That was not the case with me. I enjoyed the holiday well enough, mainly the gifting part, but the premier attraction for me was nature's annual funeral performed in white.
The atmosphere did not affect me in a physical sense, which I liked to believe was due to literally being born in the snow. According to my uncle, who was informed by his cop husband, my mother gave birth to me in a snowbank. She was found dead and I was found with my tiny infant mouth attached to her breast.
They disliked me being out there without a sweater and a jacket, but they had finally accepted it. In the same way they eventually accepted my passion for a cold season that had no heart unless symbolically attributed by a human need for meaning to be found in absolutely everything.
They liked to believe their opinions were a secret, but secrets could not be kept in a house with surprisingly thin walls. According to their whispers, I should have been disgusted with the season just because it took my mother's life. As though losing out on her love was supposed to have made me abhor those months at the end of each year.
The ice crystals beneath my feet made a satisfying crunching sound as I walked through a tranquil wooded wonderland. More satisfying was how my arms, back, and legs burned as I dragged a couple of dead bodies behind me. It was weird how they became heavier when life left them. They lost something yet they did not become lighter.
Mind boggling. Like what was happening with the light of day. It was something common heavy cloud cover could not explain, and the sudden arrival of darkness had me suspicious.
Looking up, there was no time allowed to register the incoming disaster before the wave hit me.
"Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat."
~ Erin Hunter
~ Erin Hunter