Touching SnowA Story by Billie Mae’snow in a dream signifies your inhibitions and unexpressed emotions.
Audra sits in a puddle of slush and mold, her legs crossed and her palms spread heavenward. Her chestnut locks are splayed across her back, covering the tarnished sweater she wears. It feels unnecessary, that sweater. She can no longer feel the cold"it stopped such a long time ago and yet she never tires from the winter wonderland she resides in.
She doesn’t notice the absence of a heartbeat. She doesn’t notice the shortness of breath"or the empty feeling in her lungs. She notices nothing but the magical snowflakes collecting in the curve of her palm. She feels…free. She never imagined freedom to feel, as it does"like a white home. Cascading into beauty and oblivion. Her eyelashes are filled with these flakes, and though she cannot feel the melting ice she smiles and relinquishes what she thinks is a held breath. She doesn’t realize she’s just signed her death sentence"and even if she knew she would feel no remorse. The snow had stopped falling then. That was when she really looked around her, seeing the missing homes but not mistaking the area around her to be where she once lived. Her plum dress is starting to turn brown so she stands, her torn tights catching on a grounded icicle and ripping even further down her left calf. It’s certainly not as she expected. Nothing is as perfect as it should be. While the homes are the cars are gone, the street remains. The tread marks that turned the white fluff coating the ground to slush are still imprinted on the ground. Children’s footprints and snow angels are still there. It is then that she realizes she’s alone. That was when she realized she’s stuck, in her own private winter wonderland"trapped in a snowflake all on her own. This was what you wanted, right? © 2011 Billie Mae |
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Added on January 12, 2011Last Updated on January 12, 2011 AuthorBillie MaeChicago, ILAboutI'm Billie Mae. I'm eighteen years old and my life is staying exactly where it is. In my bedroom with the fan blowing and music blasting. My fingers are glued to my keyboard at all hours of the day, e.. more..Writing
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