Snow. Formed when the temperature in the air is thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit and water falls from the clouds high above. An excess of snowfall can disrupt everyday life and slow human activities even in regions that are accustomed to cold weather. Coming and going with the winter season, most people see snow at least once in their lives. It all depends on where one lives and where they go, but television and the internet have made it an event possible to see even from miles away. However the people who do not personally experience the falling of snow with the seasons underestimate the intensity of the frozen crystals raining down on them.
Snow. The clouds roughly shove the sun out of the way and quickly dispose of the light shining from the sky, replacing it with their massive grey bodies. Day turns into night with a speed faster than light. The lone man’s shadow disintegrates like paper when it touches an open flame.
Snow. It covers everything. The buildings that touch the sky, the homes belonging to the innocent, Mother Nature’s and man’s creations alike – any object with a direct route from the sky to the ground. It even covered the man as he walked slowly, ever so slowly, along the street. The lone man’s steps were heavy as though the force of gravity had doubled, causing his reduced speed. The frozen ice desperately tried to make its way into his clothes, trying consume him completely. He knew eventually it would. Given enough time, he recognized that the snow would enclose him, suffocate him. But he tried not to think about it – it was best that way. So he opted to keep walking to his chosen destination. Eventually he made his way to the black gates, and he stood at their entrance for a moment, looking up. He watched the small flakes fall with a small sense of wonder. But his depression made him turn his head away and he entered the cemetery.
The man made his way through the snow with a calculated precision, living in a place where the snow fell frequently had made him, for the most part at least, adapted to the ice flakes. But the frozen vapor still managed to trick him. Without warning, cold gust of wind stabbed at him and he closed his eyes, doubled over, and tried to regain his warmth. The blizzard had come unexpected, a random act of coldness that just wanted to humiliate him. The weather man had been lied to, no, maybe it was the teleprompter’s fault. All the signs had pointed to a cold, bitter incident. So whose fault was it? Perhaps the news station, but the viewers also chose to ignore the forewarnings of the shape of things to come. And then when the first ice shard fell, all were surprised.
Nearly dragging himself the last couple of feet, the man collapsed to his knees before the tombstone. The fresh flowers that surrounded the grave were still standing tall, despite the harsh weather. Even the American flags accompanying the flowers refused to give in to the weight of the sleet. The man read the name carefully carved into the granite memorial once before reading the words under her name over and over. Died in the line of service. Died in the line of service. Died in the line of service. Tears blurred his vision and his shoulders began to shake. Unaware of the passing time, the snow rising around him screamed the time. He almost didn’t hear the snow crunching behind him. He turned, disturbing the frozen ice fragments struggling to engulf him, to see a second man trudging through the snow towards him. The second man eventually made his way to the grave, and stood next to the first. They shared no words however they shared feelings. The first man’s shoulders continued to shake, from the emotions taking hold of him and the tears freezing to his face, efficiently dropping his body temperature. The second was more experienced with living with the snow, and had a larger coat on protecting him. But the frozen drops still managed to make him cold despite his protection. He looked up at the tree next to them, and couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the frozen crystals on the branches, despite the biting temperatures. There was a beauty that came with the snow. Not during the storm, no, but after. After the snow stopped trying to smother everything in its path. After the harsh wind stopped biting. After, when the darkness faded and the light returned. That is when the snow is beautiful. And the remembrance of a nice snow day lasts a lifetime. The second man looked back down at the grave of his fallen friend, his comrade, his moral compass. He would never grow used to the snow. Some did, but he knew that would never be true for him. He watched with sad eyes his friend cry next to him and he wished he had brought another jacket to protect the man he called his brother form the horrible cold. But he didn’t. He wished he could have prevented the storm altogether. Part of him believes he actually could have at least predicted the storm, and that alone could have changed the outcome. The flaw in his thought is that he is only a human who could not have predicted this storm. No one could.
As the two brothers mourn their lost companion, the corrupt clouds plot the next heartless blizzard.
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