December’s Snow – Flash Fiction

The snow underneath me chills my bones and dampens my leggings as I stare at the warm, orange lights of the city nestled deep in the valley. They flicker. The trees on either side of the trail I’m on loom overhead, long fingers silhouetted against the dark sky. Snow falls in clumps from their branches, landing softly around me. I blink at the flakes on my lashes.

I hug my legs to my chest, resting my cheek on my knee. The contact is warm against my wind-chilled skin. The forest is silent.

I search the vast valley, reaching past snowcapped peaks, hopeful, but my mind catches on nothing. It lives in the wind, drifting among the trees, swirling in the stars. Desperate, but hollow. Grief turns the hot blood in my veins to sludge.

Another breathless goodbye.

Another end I never wanted.

Another loss I didn’t deserve.

My toes turn towards each other as my chest caves forward, as my stiff hands splay across my shoulder blades. I would cry if I could, but fear holds my tears in my throat.

I let the cold wrap around my brittle ribs. Snow continues to fall like confetti, a celebration of something new, something delicate, something cold. To my left, the trail continues, following the steep overlook down to the warmth of the valley. To my right, the frostbitten forest taunts me, beckoning me forward with crooked fingers.

I put my forehead on my knees, closing my eyes, and squeeze my hands so tightly they tremble. I know I have to keep moving. The snow will bury me if I stay here, but my joints stiffen and my head hangs heavy.

My melancholic rage suffocates me.