Trapped
in Snow and Life
by
Amanda
Libby
Thump,
thump. What if I can’t? What if I can’t
do it? Thump, thump, thump. What
if, what if, what if? Creaking
sounds screeched in the background. What
if I don’t like business? Thump, thump, thump, thump. What
if I hate grad school? Mary rocked back and forth on her
straight-backed chair, her straight dirty blond hair stuck against her pale wet
face, the product of finished tears. Shaking,
she tucked her knees to her chest, slowly going forward and back. But I
must, I must learn to like it. Mary
dropped her head, her chin up against the coarsely knit sweater swaddling her
chest. It will be fine, she thought firmly, clutching the miniscule hope
that was in those words. Her heart pounded in her aching chest,
and Mary could no longer count the beats.
Mary’s
eyes, light green with darker rims around her pupils, darted across the room,
her desk with its shelves of books and cookery ware, her bed with crumpled
purple sheets and dislodged comforter, the plain blue carpet spread on the
wooden floor to engulf everything in a black blue sea. One of her books flickered into her vision, a
collection of fairytale stories from ages past.
With a still trembling hand, Mary flipped through the book, letting the
pages fall limply on each other.
Pictures fluttered by as Mary slipped into the fantasy, holding her
fears at bay for the moment. The pages
stopped at a vivid picture of a mysterious grove roofed with crisscrossing tree
branches letting only twilight illuminate the home of the fairies. Intrigued Mary read further, her nose nearly
touching the page. Fairies, fair of face
but dark of heart represent the season of their soul, live out their days in
solitude, waiting always waiting. Waiting for what? Mary thought, reaching
the end of the story with reality slowly sinking back into her being. Sighing, she shut the book, the loud thud
made her head ring. Cupping her head in
her hands and waiting for the ringing to stop, Mary lifted her head up slightly
and snapped her head back. Blue eyes
were staring at her outside the dorm window, blue like thick ice. But then they were gone, and nothing was
staring at her but the blue grey sky of winter.
Mary shook her head blaming the sleepless nights.
As
she was just about to get up, her phone rang.
Mary picked it up and seeing the phone number, her shaking
returned. Mary put it up to her ear and
said, “Hi dad.”
“Hi
sweetie, how are you doing?” Mary could hear the dead sweetness from the other
end.
“I’m
doing fine dad,” Mary said.
“Oh
that’s great honey,” her dad said sounding so excited. “Listen, I was just calling to see how you
were doing with job research.”
“Its
ok I suppose. I do have other more
pressing work that I have to do too dad,” Mary said carefully. Mary could envision his eyes blinking back
surprise from his spacious home in New York.
“But
Sweetheart, you do know what is at stake here?”
“I
know dad, I know,” Mary said in monotone, having repeated these same words over
and over through the past year. The
family had lost all their money to bad investments and now Mary would have to
support her parents after college while going to business school.
“Well, then you know what you should be doing,
so get to it,” her dad growled over the line, the static heightening his
threat.
Mary
nodded silently and hung up, putting her delicate fingers to her forehead and pressing
her throbbing temples lightly. Glancing
at the window once more Mary walked toward it, the glass reflecting her pale
expression. Her breath made puffy
clouds, grey and round on the panes. She
looked out toward the school grounds, and choked out a crooked smile. Snow had fallen last night to create a
picturesque scene, a winter wonderland for children and adults, the perfect
day. And Mary was inside panicking about
her inevitable future.
A walk in the woods would help clear my
head and I could practice my song, she mused, impulsively grabbing her
coat and scarf, leaving her phone behind.
Crunch. Crunch.
The sound continued as Mary walked along the road leading to the woods.
Looking to the ground, the undisturbed snow was crisp and clean like it
was supposed to be. She hummed under her breath a song that matched her
crunching strides; Mary watched the wind flutter the snow particles as they
blew into her face. They always do what they are supposed to do, like me, Mary thought. In front of her the lake came into view, half
frozen, with ducks skating on the surface of the glistening ice, a pale sea at
sunset. It made her smile, such beauty
in such simplicity.
That
is what singing is, her aunt told her
one summer day before high school started up.
“It is creation with the voice and the ability to change the
masses. Don’t ever forget that Mary and
don’t ever stop singing. You have a
gift; now go use it.” Over the next four years her aunt drifted
away from the family and Mary’s parents didn’t stop her. In the end she left, back to Europe and her
writing, but Mary never forgot the singing lessons she learned from her.
When
the trees blocked her view of the lake, Mary looked back ahead of her to the
solitary road that was silent thanks to the absence of cars driving down the
single lane. The humming turned into whispered notes, as she turned off
of the road and crossed an arched wooden bridge. The moment she crossed it an echoed note
caught on her ear. Pausing, Mary
listened but could her no more.
Shrugging it off as a trick of the wind, Mary entered the wood.
The
forest was wide; the trees sparsely planted so that there were large patches of
undisturbed snow under the weighted branches.
With her gloved hands jammed into her coat pockets, Mary continued
walking, going from bar to bar on her imagined song and allowed her thoughts to
be as silent as the trees. But the birds
above the icy foliage were not silent.
They dived in a crescendo of speed and flapped up to alighted song. Mary
stopped and matched her song to theirs, blending their dizzying highs with her
sunken lows until new tears slipped down her red tinged face, the product of
pimples in her middle school days.
Following the birds, Mary sang as she whirled between trees gloved with
crystalized snow. But then the birds
vanished, and no more aerial singing could be heard. Mary’s singing became singular once more, and
silence shrouded the forest.
Mary
tentatively looked around; to her right she could still hear the cracking of
ice on the shore, but in front of her was unfamiliar. In the foggy pale grey of sky, her plain dark
purple coat swayed in the constant light wind making her shiver. Contemplating turning back, Mary was about to
leave when suddenly,
Chime,
chime.
Her
forehead crinkled under wisps of straight blond hair, and she slowly turned
toward the bell’s sound.
Why would a bell be ringing here? she
thought squinting into the distance, her nearsightedness not allowing her to
see very far from the shadowed trees ahead, reminding her again that she needed
to get glasses.
Chime,
chime.
Ok, well I know I am not hallucinating
at least, and a smile flashed on her lips. With heavy but lightened steps, Mary walked
toward the sound, beckoned by the clear notes.
She passed ancient and young trees, going deeper into the woods and away
from the central lake with its shiny frozen water. Slowly the trees merged together, no longer
the friendly widespread trunks, but thicker and wild. Some were so close that they seemed to want
to touch their neighbor, their spikey branches succeeding where their rough
trunks did not.
Shadows
deepened with the growing trees, as the bell grew louder, reverberating between
the thickets, for even the dripping of half melted snow had seemed to pause in
the darker parts of the wood. Mary
trudged along, her hands grasping the trees and her fingers slipping into the
gnarled ridges, before she pulled them out and took some of the half dead wood
with her. A strange almost frantic determination
had overcome her. She wanted this; she
wanted to find something magical like in her books and prove to her family that
she was worth their loss, insisting on investing in music conservatories that
failed and art programs that collapsed. When
the trees finally cleared away they revealed a small clearing, shadowed from
the branches intercrossing above to only let in snatches of grey blue sky.
Staring
around in the shifting darkness, Mary pined for the sweet clear bell, but it
had died away when she entered the grove. Disappointed, Mary turned to go, a line of
her song hung on her lips, when a rustle came from behind. She shifted in increments; her heartbeats
slow and loud. A young man was sitting
cross-legged directly on the snow, his lanky body almost unnoticeable in the
gloom. With the wind blowing constantly,
the man’s strange silver hair was swept in one direction, than another. It was rough and straight and wild, like the
tree branches above, and he wore a black skin hugging shirt and loose fitting
dark blue pants. His ankles were bare to
match his bare feet, his toes a disconcerting shade of blue. When Mary finally shifted her gaze to his
face, she was surprised to see him smiling.
A confident smirk of a smile was on his face, supported by his palm that
was attached to a long arm bent at the elbow.
His icy teeth glowed in the gloom.
He reminded Mary of a cat, intrigued by something, and studying it
before pouncing. Taking a few steps back,
Mary started to struggle in the damp snow, her legs trembling horribly.
“Why
do you flee child?” the man purred.
Mary
stopped, unsure, hesitant.
“I…I
don’t know. You frightened me I guess, she
said, gulping the cold wind that blew in her face.
“Why do you stare so?” he asked.
Mary
smiled, a slight blush rising on her cheeks.
“I was following a bell until I found this place. It looks like a place in a story about
fairies and I thought I had found one.”
The
young man just blinked quizzically. Not
taking his eyes off of her, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a
silver bell. Ringing it softly, the
clear sound enveloped the grove as it bounced along the entwined trees. “Was this the bell you were following so
intently?”
“Yes
but, wait if you had it than why did you lead me here? Who are you?” Mary asked.
The
man cocked his head, “You said it yourself child; I’m a fairy.”
Mary’s
eyes widened in excitement and a smile grew on her lips, the first pure one in
so very long. But the man was not
smiling. He looked grim.
Saying
nothing he bent over, his back rippling like water through wind. Just then a crunching sound emanated from his
upper back, making him grunt in response.
Ripping of fabric followed, his black shirt curled away like skin of
peeled fruit, from the two large bumps that appeared on his shoulder
joints. Out of those large bumps came
twin trickles of blood that ran down his limp arms. Points of transparent glass broke the skin,
sending a sigh from the man’s clenched mouth.
The points rose out of the bumps, rounding and expanding with him
leaning farther over from the apparent weight. Wings slowly grew out of his back, with
intricate patterns of sparkling ice. As
the man flapped his dripping wings ponderously, like flexing of muscle, Mary
saw the dark trees through them, slightly distorted, the reflection of
ice. Droplets of blood fell from the
erupted wings, splattering the dazzling white snow with dark red, a stark
contrast. Frozen, her red flushed face now
pale, Mary stood silent.
With
a grim smile still on his face, the Fairy took a small step forward. “Not what you were expecting I bet.”
“No,”
Mary trembled. “Why did you bring me
here?” Mary asked taking a shaky step backward.
“I
have been watching you for some time now, seeing your distress.”
“Icy
blue eyes,” Mary thought.
“You
have such an unfair amount on your shoulders child,” the Fairy said, stepping
continually to the left making Mary turn to keep him in her line of sight. “You are blamed for things vastly out of your
control, and now you have to always do what you are supposed to do. I beaconed you here to offer an escape from
this cage your parents forged for your life.”
Thump “What
sort of offer?” Mary asked, making a shallow bowl in the snow, constantly
shifting her feet to keep up with his prowl.
“I
offer you a peaceful escape in the form of death,” the fairy said, his smile
finally fading from his face as he circled around Mary, barely shifting the
snow under his blue feet. “There would
be no more anxiety, no more panicking, no more trapped being what you are
supposed to be. You would be free,” the
fairy whispered, almost pleading.
Thump, thump. “Why would you want to do this?” Mary
asked, struggling to remain warm in the cold and dread.
“Unfortunately
for you, my diet consists of humanity and all that makes them human. It is what I am always waiting for,” the
fairy said finally stopping in front of her.
Thump, thump, thump. “No, I won’t. I…I don’t want to die,” Mary said, tears
trailing down her face. She backed away,
lips trembling.
“I’m
sorry, I wanted to give you a choice, to give you a semblance of freedom in
your trapped life. I picked you because
I thought you might actually take my offer,” the fairy said, regret tinged on
his lips as he stared at the picturesque snow around them. “But I can’t let you go. I need you, and I need you to die,” His blue
eyes now focused on Mary, hunger flashing in the clear ice of his eyes. Not blinking, not even moving his pupils, he
pounced.
Mary’s
scream was cut short as she crashed to the ground, her hands scraped raw from
trying to break her fall. As red mixed
with white, Mary lay frozen, trapped under the Fairy’s clutching hands. “Shush, shush child it won’t hurt,” the fairy
soothed, huffing his breath. One hand
stroking her frail pale cheek, while the other grasped her wrists and his bare
feet clawed at the soft snow around her legs. “It will be so fleeting you won’t
even feel a thing,” he whispered warmly into Mary’s cold ear. Mary shook, her thoughts a maze of regret,
but then a quiet song rose above the trees.
A
bird was singing overhead, just a simple winter melody of nothing in particular. It filled her chest and its sweet tune flooded
her veins. With its song coursing
through her, Mary tucked her knees up and gripped the fairy’s waist. Before he had a chance to react, Mary flipped
over to the side, sending him crashing into the brittle snow. Shattering screeched in Mary’s ears as she
scrambled to her feet. Looking down she
saw a thousand shards of ice scattered around the fallen fairy. His wings were decimated and fresh blood
seeped down his back, merging with hers in the whiteness. He looked up at her, the hunger still swimming
in his eyes. “So now you will leave, running
away from your one chance at peace. I
could help you.” He still pled, raggedly breathing blood and winter air.
On
unsteady legs Mary backed away, shaking her head as she went. “No you can’t help me, I need to help myself.”
The fluttering of wings made her look
skyward. The bird had taken flight,
gliding toward the setting sun, his song calling out to the waning day. Mary smiled softly. “I thank you for this,” she said a little
sadly, back down at the now shivering fairy.
He too managed a sad smile before slumping to the cold ground.
Not
even glancing back at the fairy of her books and hopes, Mary fled; the fairy’s hungry
moan chased her throughout the wood, until she thundered across the wooden
bridge and back down the silent road.
Shutting
the door softly behind her, Mary sighed, taking in the familiar sight of her
room. Her phone was still on her desk,
and as she stared at it the ringer kicked in.
Seeing the caller’s name, Mary picked up the phone and put it to her
ear.
“Hi dad, I’m actually glad you
called. We need to have a talk about my
life.”
End
