A Fallen Snow Angel.
Tags: Sorrow, Lucifer, Darkness, Pain, Snow

I feel the resistance of the snow below my boots as I walk down the street. It has been snowing for the past few days but this morning, it finally stopped. I woke up early and decided to take a walk outside. There are about 2 inches of frozen dust covering the streets. It is the break of dawn and the city is silent. The only sound which I hear is that of my footsteps crushing the snow on the pavement.

My black trench coat flows around me as a defensive cape, protecting me from the icy sharp gusts of wind. The collar is raised high over my ears and nose, leaving only space for my eyes to pierce the air from above the cloth.

Damn it, I have forgotten my gloves. I scuff in annoyance and force my hands into tight fists, digging my nails into the palm of my hands. Shall I go back to grab them? No, it will be fine. I look at my watch, which reads 5 AM. I had woken up early with a strange feeling paired with a headache and had decided to try to walk it off. The streets remain quiet at this hour on a Sunday morning. Rays of sunlight are trying to force themselves through the thick grey clouds which are floating low across the horizon. The light of dawn remains unsuccessful and the area around me drapes itself with a somber grey aura. The stark white color of the snow sets off harsh against the darker shades of the urban environment. Am I walking through a silent movie?

As I keep pacing forward, the air around me shifts. It starts to snow again. I look up and see an approaching rain of ice arrows slowly floating down to earth. I halt my step, close my eyes, and lift my face up to meet the cold comforting touch of frozen particles. I remain standing there for a while, silent and still in the sleeping streets, taking joy from the loneliness.

The silence breaks by a whistling roar. I look back and notice a sudden gust of wind that is vastly approaching, bringing along a dusty cloud of hail. The blizzard rages through the street, twirling the snow around me as if an invisible beast circles me with fury. It feels as if a half-witted tornado has found its shape and form as it pulls against my body. I grin, the cold is suiting and comforting and the force of nature is impressive. The rush of the wind picks up its pace even further and my coat and hair are being devoured by its power, lifting it up and rushing it around. I squint my eyes as a way of protecting them from the icy particles. “Is that all you got?”, I murmur from behind my clenched teeth. Within a split second, the tornado of snow comes to a near halt, portraying a slow-motion version of what it was a moment ago. I do not give it a second thought and blink my eyes twice to clear my vision. We all exist within our individual snow globe, laying within the palm of the devil’s hand. Learn from its tremors.

My right eye hurts. It might have been struck by a small particle in the air. Although the odd rush of winds has laid down, the snow keeps falling and my walk has not ended. I stumble upon a park that is tucked in between the hidden corners of the city. Dead flowers, snow-covered trees, and empty benches are scattered throughout. I gaze at the frozen grass which aligns a wrinkling path into the area. I stand there for a moment and observe the picturesque vision. The tall gates in front of me are closed, visitors aren’t allowed at this hour. Shall I enter?

My hand grips the cold iron handle of the gate, pushing inward. With a loud creak, my pathway opens up. I walk past the tall pillars of the barrier, letting my fingers slide through the layer of snow covering the bricks and steel. The gargoyles on top of the gate are looking down on me with a judging smirk, welcoming me while frozen in time. I raise my wrist to look at my watch and see that 30 minutes have passed since I left my apartment. It is 5:30 AM.

The park is densely populated with sleeping trees and I observe them while I walk. No leaves, no flowers, just mere branches clawing at the sky. I look up, to an area above the horizon. It is still snowing and disgusting clouds float in unison. I am lost in thought and am without a clear destination. “I already know what will happen to me the next time I wake up..”

Why did I think ‘that’? I blink my eyes and the fog in front of them disappears. I had walked for quite a bit while being in an unaware state of mind. My right eye itches and a sharp pain shoots through it. Maybe I should try keeping it closed for a while and see if something is lodged in it when I get home later. I look back and see the breadcrumbs of my footsteps. I am still within the park and now stand in one of its darker, more overgrown corners. As I return my sight to the front, I notice that I stand before a peculiar structure.

A small church-like building of which the steeple is only about 3 meters tall, stands amidst a dead bed of roses. One side of its walls is caved in, and the rubble of grey bricks lay next to it as broken bones. The wooden door, which is only slightly taller than me, sways back and forth on the whistling winds. The creaking hinges cry as if they have been tortured for years by the force of nature and men.

“A temple of time”, I whisper. A sudden blow of wind comes from behind me and presses forcefully against my back. The gust slams harshly against the door after it swings open. I raise an eyebrow in perplex. “Well, isn’t that convenient.”

I wander inside and swiftly observe my new surroundings. It is rather dark and dusty. Have I been to this place before? The caved-in wall on my left isn’t the only weathered part of the structure. Above me, there is a gaping hole in the ceiling that lets in a single beam of compressed light. Snowflakes dance their way through the hole and have piled together on a patch further up the aisle. In front of it is a small altar which is about 6 meters away from me at the far end wall. The top of it holds a single burning candle. Someone must have lit that up before me.

Due to its smaller size, the structure only fits four wooden benches on either side of the lane, most of which are broken. Below my feet lays a faded maroon carpet that stretches out towards the altar. Strangely, I thought that all of it looked beautiful. Why is it that the beautiful things are entwined more deeply with death than with life?

I walk forward, down the aisle. The sound of my echoing steps fills up the silence. There is an unexplainable, odd atmosphere that hangs in the air. My breath forms clouds of condense. I am nearing the patch of snow formed by the rupture in the ceiling. Trying to dispel the building unease in my chest, I sink my boots into the white hump and scan my surroundings. The altar, the broken benches, the scent of rotting flowers, it’s all very peculiar. An abrupt cold breeze starts dancing around my neck as if icy hands claw at my throat. I have been here before, right? My eyelids feel heavy. Why am I here?

I open my eyes. How long have I been standing? I am motionless within the snow nearby the altar, the candle on top of it is no longer lit and a single line of smoke rises from the burned-up wick. The snow around me has raised to above my ankles. My arms hang beside me. My hands feel frozen and seem as if they have been bleached from all color. My nails are a dark purple from the remaining blood beneath the skin trying to hang on to the life within. I should have brought my gloves.

My black trench coat draped around my shoulders has hardened by the frost. My hair is white, is it covered in snow or am I getting older? I breathe out sharply. The expected cloud of condense doesn’t show itself. My lungs are cold. I can’t feel my fingers. Will I feel pain if I crack my hand against the wall?

I hear the sound of a lone crow in the distance. It is only now that I notice the drops of blood between my feet. My right eye has been bleeding and a single stream of red liquid has been running down my cheek. Another drop falls. I should get out of here. I turn my hips but overestimate the ability of my cold legs. My knee forcefully bends and I drop down hard on the other. Damn it... I bow my head and face the floor. Three drops of blood fall from my eye. I place the palm of my hand over the socket to try to stop the outpour. I clench my teeth and try to stand up but my ankles won’t move. I sit there, leaning on one knee, as a knight pledging its allegiance to the individual before them.

My body won’t listen to me. My limbs are frozen. I need to get to someplace warm. With all my might I try to raise my body up but I fail again. My ankle twists and, with a hurting roar, my back slams against the ground. The echo of my pain bounces off the walls. Silence returns. Like an unsolved puzzle falling into place by itself, I understand it now, I have been here before. A teaching that speaks of pain and the meaning it gives.

I lay on my back in the middle of the snow, the hole in the ceiling is right above me and the flakes keep coming down while slowly covering me whole. I try moving my arms and scrape the floor, pushing away some of the white powder. A faint smile forms on my lips as I picture myself forming a fallen snow angel, expelled from heaven. Maybe Lucifer had lit up that candle?

I can’t see out of my right eye anymore. No matter how I try to rouse my will to fight with hatred, more than sorrow, more than rage, the emotion that arises within me is that of despair, paired with a sense of uncontrollable power. Those who cannot acknowledge and forgive themselves will eventually fail. The strong ones are those who able to accept their true nature.

My eye bleeds. It is painful but necessary. Maybe it would feel better if I close them? I’ve had enough of dreaming. Time to wake up.