Snowblind

***Snowblind*** is the tenth chapter of *Winter's Tales*.

## Synopsis

Winter is plunged into an emotional freefall after another figure from her past comes to antagonize her, cursing her with a cruel nickname that spreads like wildfire and tarnishes any secrecy she ever had. With Daniela joining in on the bullying, Winter finds her only solace in the form of her memories - an arcane magic she was previously too frightened to face.

## Warnings

### Content Warning

*This chapter contains actions very similar to hazing and is meant for mature audiences.*

### Disclaimer

*Varien will briefly be referred to with the incorrect pronouns in the chapter, though from this point on, he will go by male pronouns, as is the case in real life.*

## Dedication

*Dedicated to Tasha Baxter. This chapter would not even be remotely possible without her.*

## Transcript

*"When we were young; endless wonder... thoughts of death were not a cause to live slowly."*

*"Now the unknowns seem to haunt us... could this physical experience be free?"*

*Bullying. An action all too common in this rugged, cruel world.*

*Meant as a backhanded jab to someone, usually a commoner or a scrub valued as a weakness or burden, bullying is a spurt of fire that when fueled, turns into a raging inferno no firefighter can put out on their own.*

*Most of the time, it starts lighthearted. I say that lightly, because lighthearted never lasts. What is teasing, simple mocking, can turn into something so ugly, so violent, you'll wish you'd never have been alive to witness it.*

*Bullying destroys public images. Whole reputations, tainting them and shredding them, reducing them to scraps of paper in the dirt. Bullying hurts. Not just hurts, but destroys everything you know.*

*People sink to their lowest when they're bullied. People can do the unthinkable when they're bullied. It is rare to see the bullied stand up to their bully, as most will cower and just accept it in a torrent of tears, walking away, never to resolve the problem. The cycle goes on. It only gets worse.*

*Some bullies never learn their lesson. Others have to be set straight in violent ways.*

*Bullying is rotten. It's vile. It should never be a thing, for it brings destruction. It has caused violence, ruined images, murder, and revenge. The implausible. The most sickening, retched things you could compose in your head.*

*Even talking about it now makes me feel heavily ill. I despise bullying with all of my heart. It has hurt people around me, and it's hurt me, too.*

*Walking into seventh grade, I did expect teasing and suspicion. I'd kept up an act all year and cracked a few times, and would those same people remain dubious of me? Better yet, my ex was a challenge. She was tenacious and wouldn't let go of the bone in her mouth. She had to forever pick it - and as long as I was around, that was very much the case.*

*Seventh grade started well. I had easy fights that I handled. My baggage was lessened, not much of a problem anymore; while many things were unsaid and unaddressed, I'd find my own method of reaching the parts of me I couldn't someday.*

*Was it possible to get through unscathed?*

*As I'd come to realize, instead of being unscathed, I was completely dumbstruck by an unexpected, shocking ambush from a person I never even gave much thought to. I was exposed, point-bank, to the harsh reality of the winter season.*

*It was cold. Bitter. And only just beginning.*

*Hate was in the air, and with it, war. I was ravaged, pillaged, and exposed. A vivisection of me, done for all of the school to see. There was nowhere to hide from the onslaught, and with open wounds came the salt and pepper. A seasoning for the vivisection and the rising chorus of voices that had been starved of a meal for so long.*

*Every part of me was mauled. There was no escape from my new reality.*

*This chapter will be a short one. But must I tell a long chapter to emphasize that with one spark can form a wildfire of lasting trauma and damage?*

The opening day to seventh grade was slow as a slug slithering down a leaf dangling off a river's edge, and for PMS, the raucous monkeys had taken their places, stomping and hollering and chattering away about a fashion trend plucked from the clutches of Vogue nails. Meanwhile, I was also present around these monkeys, but I was the sloth. Painfully unmoving, face taut and enfolded.

The new sixth graders were down in the hall, getting their schedules and causing a ruckus for staff to moderate, while I crowded with the... still frankly chattery seventh graders in the gym. The air was thick with nervous sweat and a line of whooping calls, all from the bodies in front of me awaiting *schedules*. Destination down to *hell*, here we go again.

No one suspiciously eyed me yet. Not a soul suspected my origin, and we were back to the protective, dense mist of the prior year. This was the first day; in order to make grudges and make accusations fly off the shelves, you had to *learn* that person. I had to be wary - eyes were everywhere, and there could be the evil eye, the Sherlock Holmes trained to diffuse a *microsecond* worth of a detail.

Come to think of it, I almost felt like there were a set of eyes *watching me* in the corner of the gym...

No, Winter. Not yet. Day one was the beginning of the one-week grace period. No reason to mount that jetski and jump the shark, and I exhaled.

I received my schedule after *ages* of standing around in invisible water, filtering in the mundane conversations and then chucking them out, because who wants to listen to boring conversations anyway, and being battered by screams, mumbling, and phones pinging with iMessages and DMs and all the stuff that made me grit with sharper teeth and flick my tongue along my gums in agitation.

Ah yes, *my schedule*. I had history first thing in the morning, followed by art, English, Spanish (*boooo*), gym (double *boooo*), science, and math (seriously, we end the day with *this*?). A survivable schedule, and one I could get used to.

Best of all: *none* of these classes had Daniela, and she was once again unable to reach me, a ring in hell beneath my ring in heaven. Were the gods in *my favor*? It appeared like they were - our amends had been made over the summer's foxes and hounds. God bless this empyrean treat.

It was a relief to have *normal people* like Mr. Naecher first, who always brightly greeted me and smiled at me. Me being his favorite pupil was not just a thing reserved for last year, and in a way, it made me feel... *appreciated*. *Validated* once again for my beliefs.

While I'd never trust him the way I trusted *Rex*, he was still *valuable* and not another *clodhopper* human who wanted to ruin my waking dream.

There was also Mr. Alann, who still had a liking of me and admired my art, even when I thought of it to be significantly off-par in comparison to the best student in class, the fine-arts and magnificently raw-talented Skylar Skipperwaite, who could literally illustrate *anything* and make it seem like you could *touch it* and *live* that experience yourself.

Whatever. I was not on the Skylar hype train (at least it wasn't romantic), for I *lived* in a *woods* and had the far superior experience. I mean it lightly, Skylar, but *beat it*.

Quickly, I settled in, braced for the humdrum, excessive classwork, the dull, lifeless teachers, the *exuberant* teachers, Daniela once again being the Queen Bee and Pineshadow's least favorite teenage asshat, Daniela hurtling empty threats at me that I could catch and throw right back at her face, and other unforeseen chapters and kinks in the road that would just make me question why I exist in the first place.

*This* was Pineshadow Middle School. And under the glass dome, in the light of the classroom, in the mumbling grind of it all, was part of my expansive waking dream. The rough edge before the smooth plateau, the *peace*.

My visits continued with Rex, who's friend had kept me in stock with my essentials for the summer, and I usually visited her once a week on Wednesdays after school when I was *three times confident* that Daniela wasn't snooping around the corner with another vendetta.

Rex maintained my boundaries and the borderlines, sitting at her desk, entertaining me with news and stories that I partially tuned out of when they were pitched out of my taste. She stared warmly at me, glad to see that I was *happy* and living *mostly* like a middle schooler *should*. With my permission, she complained about Daniela and how she was so strained from being a single parent. In turn, I related, because Father was a single parent at one point, and raising a child alone certainly required a lot of sacrifice and time.

I respected Rex. She was the only adult in my life to *genuinely* care for me.

But just because things were less *hectic* and *stormy* didn't mean I still wasn't *cautious*. Dropping my guard for a second was *dangerous*, and a *risk* I *still* wouldn't beat around the bush with. Daniela's presence hadn't receded one bit, and with a new year came *new threats*.

What threats? I didn't foresee. I was the oracle of the Piney Woods, not a school I had a constant love/hate fling with.

Being out of sight and out of mind? An endless, endearing task my body and mind were trained to *endure*. Every morning, I called the dusty, shadowy space under the bleachers my home, masked by the amiable shadows, and when the coast bore no human, I leapt out and blended in with the crowd.

Just another face in this ocean. Just another fish in the sea. A nobody with no business.

After every school day, I'd *bound* home, leaping across the street and climbing up the ridge, swinging through the trees and rolling in the grass. It was a *victory*, a *gift*, to *survive school again*. To go home, breathe in the crisp pine-spruce-fir air and shuffle up the trees, laying back on tall branches and observing the sky through brown forks and green, gradually browning, yellowing, oranging, and red-ing leaves.

Fall was not too far away. The Piney Woods would be changing colors, and leaves would fall, mixing with the pinecones on the ground, which I would collect and make a pile of, and then I'd slide through the leaves like a naive little girl and scream and shout and have *fun*.

Even with the chill, I also caught Rufie, who would rest on my head while I ran around to check and patrol the woods. Rufie would be migrating soon, however, likely to the warm shores of California, as soon as the temperatures in Washington plummeted and became too frigid for him to bear.

Every moment with him was precious, and a part of me knew there was a solid chance he might not migrate back to Pineshadow in spring. We might have never seen each other again.

If Rufie didn't come back, I knew my heart would be aching for him, pulsing with a feeble desire. Rufie taught me to have *hope* again. Rufie was the reason I *flew*, I *hoped*, I *dreamed* like a hummingbird.

He was my only companion in the woods. Even without him, I'd soldier on. I wouldn't give up and surrender - I'd crossed that threshold a *long*, *long* time ago.

Who knew a hummingbird could peck a bite-sized chunk out of your heart?

Drifting back into school days, things were drab when it wasn't history. Boredom was amuck in class, and so was the inner, held-back sigh questioning why teachers were so bratty and demanding and full of the belief that we knew everything they preached when *no*, we did *not*. Not everyone born on the earth is a freaking prodigy.

Pep rallies were amplified this year with a new announcer in Mr. Ackers, replacing the one that spoke with a *gear-grinding paralysis-inducing* Scottish lisp last year. Mr. Ackers was an improvement... but also *thunderous*. He made my ears sob and bleed. May they rest in some imperishable peace.

Turns out hiding behind the bleachers wasn't durable soundproofing.

And, of course... it wasn't PMS without *Daniela*.

"*Still* sondering about, *McCormick*? Paint me awfully *disbelieving*... but don't *forget* what I've *tussled* with to *meet you eye-to-eye*. I'm *trained* for *vengeance*. Only time will tell if you have the *same caliber*, but from that *skimpy* form you have? Tsk, *tsk*."

Seeing her again made a *chill* wrap around my neck vertabrae, but I warded it away. Daniela looked even more muscular than she did last year, arm muscle rippling underneath her blue sweater, and her legs looked extra bulky, her cheek muscles defined and angular. Her buntail? Slicked, extra shiny. Her eyes? Burning with rage, sharp, calculated, *trained*. Someone had spent her summer busting *moves*.

As I denoted in the eighth chapter, Daniela never changed. She was fired up, had her vendettas, her incentives, her sinister motives, and a whole load of deceit to unbuckle. As to what she would prove herself to be capable of the year, I didn't yet know. I was ready, though (well, that aged like cheese, didn't it?).

Unfortunately, I had the pleasure of witnessing her beat up on the new sixth graders and other seventh graders, fuming at them for crossing her path, grinning when she fed off their sadistic pleasure, twitched warmly from earning it. It was *sick*. Purely *revolting*.

"**No**, you immature headless bald-of-all-fleece *goose*! Your math problem is **your problem**, and if you ask me again, I will make **my own problems** *yours*! *Solve* your own sh-"

I saw the ripple of her facial features. Her teeth, pointed and *shining*. The way she laughed and wiped her mouth after feasting on her *carcasses*. This was her way of getting her cheap kicks. Yuck. A light scoff, and I evaded the scene with a level conscience.

Often times, I'd hear rumors spread around that Rex had fledged into full "T-Rex" form, out to bite and discipline with much-needed aggression. Daniela had to be the flare half the time, because I *swore* I could hear screaming every once and a while from two angry women, one a child and one a tired, overworked, stressed adult, over *everything*. It made me pity Rex more.

To lose the one daughter you were close with to corruption, and to see her lash out and drag down others for her own personal benefit, and to know that nothing you do will ever set her straight, was heartbreaking *enough*.

Some days, Rex was just so exhausted and bled out that she had closed off her office doors to even me, with a note saying *DO NOT DISTURB* taped to the door. While she loved me, I didn't want to be screeched at by her, and so I left her to meddle with her computer and personal belongings.

Daniela's aggression wasn't centered on just the small shrimps and slim pickings, however. As always, she was musing for *unwise* battles with me, even if they had been whiddled down to just outright pettiness.

"It's not **my fault** we broke up. You outed me to **my father**, and he **attacked**. You did **nothing**!"

"You **left me there with him**!"

"You left me for **DEAD**! Open your *damn eyes*, Daniela!"

"*I* left you for dead? *Really*, Winter. You *left yourself* for dead, running away with no defense. You never *considered my side of the story*."

"Your side of the story is riddled with *lies for bullet holes*." And that was that.

We crossed paths several times, and Daniela would draw first blood, confronting me with bitter nonsense about me, trying to throw the blame for our breakup on me, and screaming at me until she had pushed me over my limit and I retaliated.

She knew better than to claim I'd assaulted her. Rex wouldn't believe her anymore because of her shattered faith and their broken relationship - she was *through*, and she always swore to me that the next time Daniela lied about me throwing the first punch, she'd do some quite unspeakable things to her. Among those threats hung on a trigger was *expulsion*.

Rex isn't barbaric, and we all know that. But there were times where Daniela made her violent herself. It's not pretty, and it's not my situation to share with you. You'll get more hints of that in the next chapter.

Daniela was a recurring nuisance, but only later would she consume the spotlight for herself all over again.

September came by, and August was left in the arid dust of summer. The month started out... *interesting*, to say the least, when I woke up and discovered that Varien had made headlines all over again. More headlines, the EDM community *squawking* and sending love hearts and *praise*... man, was it only yesterday that I was a little elementary kid and was still coming to terms with the paradox of the internet?

"Huh... what did she do?" I wondered aloud.

I clicked the first headline, and that's when I learned I had just accidentally misgendered *him*.

Varien had changed his pronouns back to masculine ones, attributing his transitional methods reversing as the cause for the sweeping change. Whatever floated his boat! He was *Varien*, the God who trumped them all, the *deity* of nature, the arcane, the prayers, and the *ghosts*, and no matter what he chose to present himself as, I'd *always* love him. I was so inspired because of him, and I was *queer* because of him, and I loved my identity *because of him*. My *idol*.

I'd never forget Varien's influence, and to celebrate, I listened to his whole discography, no breaks, that day. Unadulterated *partying*, *my way*, *my rules*. Hell to the *yessss*.

Temperatures began to fall, and the trees warmed with autumn colors faster, painting the air with orange, red, brown, and yellow. Watching the leaves fall became a daily habit, though when I got chilly, it was back to snuggling in my blankets and watching YouTube on my phone.

Sweater weather season was coming. I had my sweater - would it be an appropriate time to bring it out? Or would its origin create too much conflict and make me itch?

I guess I had to thank Daniela for that, but still, I eyed the green-and-white article of clothing with slitted ice-blue daggers.

There was also my wintery coat, untouched for months, and I felt its faux-fur trim in my fingers, soft and comfortable.

The last warmness of the summer was fading. Fall was here, almost, and as September went by, I savored every second.

Seasons change, but some people are still the same. Seasons changed, and some places were still the same. I had changed little since the summer, but I was *determined*. Straight, pure, and true.

I had a resolve. I had to get through this year alive, and I *would*. Things were going *perfectly*.

*Too* perfectly.

It had been too long without a conflict at PMS. When October came, I was so naive that I didn't see the danger lurking *in plain sight*.

A blizzard was coming - and when it struck me, I was caught in an opaque *ambush*.

*All of me* was about to *bleed* in a public display of erratum discussions wrenched out of my control.

September came to a close quicker than I had imagined it would, and Pineshadow was *enveloped* in fall. All of the green was gone, vanishing without a trace, and every leaf was now golden, bright orange, dark red, or brown, falling all around; some other trees didn't change with the weather and held up durably with the winds.

It was now the middle of October, and I was halfway through my first semester as a seventh grader, which had showed beyond doubt to be far less disorderly than the previous year. I was passing all eight of my classes, even getting higher grades in Spanish and math, and when no one was looking, I'd *squeal* with elation.

Wow, I was *actually* learning something in this godforsaken building! And I had deceived the entire school, persuading them that I was no more than *one of them*.

*Everyone* believed I was *normal*. *Everyone* believed that I had a family, a true home, and a classic way of life. I was, to them, the average Washington citizen.

If only they knew that I was always the most unorthodox tool in the shed. As if *that* was ever gonna happen.

Mid-October meant that temperatures were falling into the fifties. The forties, even. It was a regulated, well-known period in Pineshadow, and everyone was startiing to prepare for the spookiest holiday of the year:

*Halloween*.

Lord, if I wasn't preoccupied with ducking under the public eye and cooking up a large-scale illusion to trick hundreds of chronicled mortal souls, I would have busted out the *outfits* and did the freaking *Monster Mash*.

PMS was decked out in spiders, cobwebs, and *kooky cosplays*. Cat ears sprung up, and arising from the graves were witches, wizards, dragons, and knights. Rex was dressed as Dwight Schrute from *The Office* for a staff cosplay day, and her outfit was voted the best in the school, second Mr. Naecher's ridiculous, ludacris effort at mimicking Gandalf from *Lord of the Rings*.

There were Teenage Witches, Corpse Brides, fairies, Mysterious Ticking Noises. Dogs, chickens, raincoats, ogres, *oh my*! Pineshadow Middle School was Pineshadow's Halloween *runway*, and from the twinkle of every light, the glow of every jack-o-lantern, the carved faces and spraypaint, and the laughs of a spookily delightful season... *this was Halloween*. Take the job and shove it, Skellington.

Everyone was cheering, and I silently cheered from my spot, reserved like cold cucumber destined to be served in the fridge. I found these costumes *silly*, but hey, it's Halloween, and I can't be cantankerous towards people for dressing the way they wanted. Halloween was *meant* for this type of silly.

Let's just say my outfit was *cabin girl*. I mean, really. Look at me.

Mid-October *also* wasn't just for spooky season. Apparently, Mother Nature had some *plans* for us.

Temperatures dropped *wellllll* below the forties, all the way to the twenties, and freeze warnings were issued for all of Pineshadow as well as for the upper part of Pullman and lower parts of Spokane. Winds picked up, making the wind chill in the *the tens*.

THE TENS!!!

I was pressed to the wall with a heating pad, my blankets, and my additional clothing as warmth, because the cabin transformed into a *literal icebox*.

Everywhere I went, goosebumps accompanied me, and so did several pointed, dripping icicles.

Then, we got a weather bulletin - Pineshadow was due to receive at least *two inches* of snow.

Snow in October in Washington is infrequent, and most of the time it's not cold enough to happen. But this year? Fates were changing. Destiny was a jukebox of *surprises*.

Near late October, it started to snow, and *boy*, did Mother Nature have some anger management issues to share with the class, because it snowed for *ten hours straight*.

Nonstop snow, falling in white patches that ate up the available space on the ground, snaking up the bases of trees and covering the balding branches, shaking off the loose autumn leaves. Pineshadow went from an autumn forest to a *winter wonderland*.

The roads were slicked with ice, making for traffic jams and many reported stops to Kroger and Haggen for supplies. Black ice danger on the asphault, salted roads coming to form. Lights were on at night, contrasting against the bluish-white snow. Kids hollered and whooped, throwing snowballs and rolling around, creating a mess out of nature's divine. Everything was *abuzz*.

When there was snow in Pineshadow, everyone *celebrated* (until the power went out and the black ice made for a pile up a mile up, of course).

I was one of the partygoers, throwing on my coat and jumping in the snow. My predictions for *Snowlight* season, albeit rather *early*, were *true*.

The air was damp, but smelled and tasted of snow and raw, untouched nature. The calls of sparrows and chickadees, dotted here and there. The rustle of the wind through the branches, making snow fall around me. Flurries of snow touching my cheeks, tickling them pink, making me glow, *burn* with warmth, as I let myself go off into the world of *The Ancient & Arcane*, feeling those sweet vocal chops and melodies...

*Home*. Home, in the snows and the lights. I was *Snowlight*.

Even though there was a blizzard, school was not cancelled; PMS went on as scheduled, and braving the weather conditions, I ventured on freezing sunrises to the school and settled in. Welcome to Washington, folks; they don't give a *damn* about the weather: suit up and go to school *regardless*. If you sit at home on a lazy bum because you can't face the frost, then you're an impostor among Washington's rugged-weather population.

Still very bizarre, given that we were plunged into winter already, and we still hadn't even cherished *Halloween* and people were *still* wearing their costumes.

Then again, things don't always mix like it's the salt and the sea.

We got closer and closer to Halloween, and the snow persevered, raining down more and more bucketloads. Banks of snow were all around PMS, and many sixth, seventh, and eight graders stomped through them while waiting to be picked up, leaving behind indents and holes and ruffled clumps of *white* I did not partake in their fun, for it wasn't meant for me - not anymore - and I went home. Why have fun with others when you could host a solitary *haven* that you founded yourself?

I wished someone would see the world I *saw*. That was a whimsical thought I chastised out of my head. Who needed *someone* when you were just fine on your *own*? Besides, what was seen out of my own eyes was meant for me *only*. I was the wielder of the oracle, the one who knew all. The visions, the prophecy, the *glory*, was *mine alone*.

But, at school, I didn't begin to feel *alone* in the spaces I walked. I'd sense *it*, on my shoulders, my head, and down my back. In the halls, near Rex's office, on the way to the cafeteria, on the way out.

I felt *it*. A *sensation*. *Staring*.

I felt *eyes*. *Monitoring*, honed like a hawk.

*Someone was watching my moves*.

Slightly unnerved, I'd take extra care checking my surroundings, certain Daniela was upping her trickeration, but I couldn't find her in aytpical places. She'd stuck to her usual routine of seeking me out whenever she wanted and making her demands clear. I'd ignore her, rebuke her with my fire, and then leave her to sulk.

These eyes, however, *weren't* Daniela's. They weren't *fiery*. They weren't like *embers*. They just *followed*. Dark, *listless*. Tracking, but having a thickly-veiled idea in mind.

Who was *watching* my moves? Especially if this *wasn't* Daniela? Who could see something of *profit* in me?

I'd get my answer on a late October afternoon... when the blizzard was ready to *besmirch* me through the *heart*.

The school day itself wasn't really *memorable*. It was snowy and frigid, akin to many Pineshadow winters, and there were tests being handed around. Minor assignments to be submitted and graded. Minds slipping off, listening to the snowfall outside. Thinking of dreams come true, of silver bells ringing and snowflakes accumulating.

Just another work day for me, for everyone, at PMS. I clocked in, disappeared behind the cloak, then clocked out.

The whole ridge at the edge of the road, intersecting the woods and PMS, was a slippery slope of *white*, and I gazed into the branches, the trees ahead, brown and *mighty*, headed towards heaven. For once, it had stopped snowing, and the skies were *clear*, the sun making the snow *gleam*.

Could it be? Yes, I agreed. This was what Varien and the mysterious vocal chops had prophesied in *Snowlight*.

*Majesty*.

*This is honestly beautiful,* I whispered to myself, admiring the *perfect view*, which would be even *more beautiful* when I returned and took my daily jog through the Piney Woods. Imagine it, blankets of snow only broken through by fallen pine needles, icicles catching sunlight, hanging off thin tree branches, the puffs of air arising from my mouth...

*Home.*

For a moment, I *admired* the beauty, letting my thoughts slip to *Snowlight* and just how much the winter season *was* me, down to my *birthmark* and my *very existence*.

However, in that sacred moment, I let my guard *down* onto the snow, pulling my hood back so it rested on my shoulders, and I shook myself free of school expectations. I was in my *safe space*, the clear where I could *drop* the weight, push it back, and *levitate*. Forget the second-handed expectations of life, trade it out for a dream so *crisp* I could breathe it in and out and *still* retain its aura.

Free of everything.

Free of *awareness*.

It was one of the most *mortifying* blunders I could have *ever* chosen to make.

"**Winterlyn**."

Suddenly, the blood in my heart ceased, turning to *ice*. I didn't move a muscle, *blinking*, unable to turn around to face the very *masculine* voice that had just shouted at me.

A *masculine* voice, deep and *pubescent*. I *knew* that voice, weighing my heart *heavy*. Oh, *no*. No, not *again*...

It had been almost *two years* since our last run in together, but I knew him *too well*. *Alarmingly* well, and frozen, I didn't face him. I *couldn't*. I couldn't choke over myself. Not like this.

*Ignore him. Go home,* I commanded my inner sanctum, taking a step in the direction of the woods.

"*Face me*, Winterlyn. Don't *walk away* and act like I'm *nonexistent* to you in your *dumb game*."

"Yeah, you *better*, you spineless *simpleton*!"

"Coward!"

*He wasn't alone*. His words were scarcely registering with me. Paralysis was setting in.

*Nonexistent*. *Game*. I felt the sweat run down my spine, not from my coat. I felt my body quake with tremors and earthquakes inside, the rumble of stones cascading down a cliff. Something preceding *danger*. I couldn't *move* when I needed to *desperately* get back to the *actual safety* of the woods.

I didn't want to *turn around*.

I didn't want to *face him* and the clique he brought along, but hearing his voice, *deep*, *commanding*, and *rigid*, a stark deviation away from childhood youth and games children would play, and the voices of *accomplices*, eager to please and back their *leader*, I knew that if I chose to act coy, I'd be in for something *sinister*.

For the first time in nearly *two years*, I shuffled my boots on the snowy sidewalk and craned, staring at *Lars Miller*, eye-to-eye, an *angered* dark blue onto *shocked* ice-blue. And Lars wasn't solitary, for he now had company in the form of *three*.

A *clique*. The first, a pale, platinum blonde-haired girl with lake-blue eyes and a brown-and-pink coat. She looked *reverent*, disgusted, here against her better wishes. The only clique member that day who proved to have a semblance of heart.

The second, another girl with pale skin, bowl-cut brown hair, and a thick white coat with brown fur trim, looking ripped off a bear itself. Her narrow lavender eyes were a scoff in of themselves, and she had a cocky smirk on her face.

And the third, a thin-faced but dark-skinned broad-muscled boy with a silver nose bead, tied-back black hair, a black coat, and burnt oange eyes, glaring at me with deep-seated *revulsion*.

*Three* against *one*.

Lars was *huge*, even more muscular than *Daniela*, and his bulky arms were crossed, his rounded nose sharpened. He had splits in his eyebrows and missing teeth, adding to his *fearsome* stature. His eyes were a *seething* dark blue that sized me up, judging me, locking me in place. His companions' stares, sans Blondie's, matched him. They were glaring me down, and it wasn't even a *footrace*. Enough to tell me they *loathed me*.

What even was the *meaning of this*, and why had Lars chosen to *target me* out of the blue, getting his clique to tag along? I didn't want to know, and by now, I should have hit the ground and *avoided* the looming confrontation.

The snow had glued my boots to the sidewalk. The hope I had about falling into my rhythm of the same old tricks was *smashed* out of the emergency case.

"W-What do you want?" I demanded, maintaining a slim but *weak* edge to my voice that more or less was a meager attempt at *standing pat*. *Meager*.

Dread was consuming at me, picking at my bones, and I felt *something*. A something that would be *detrimental* to my whole case. The denial set in. That was the *last thing* I needed, and the first thing Lars *desired*.

He didn't waste a second to make his first move, and the clique watched on.

"I want you to *own up to what you did to me*!" he growled, leaping toward me with a *thud*, and my hackles bristled defensively, shoulders raised up around my neck. "Winterlyn, I *wanted* to get close to you. I *wanted* you to be my friend! Perhaps **more** than that. And instead, you chose *Daniela*! I was *right there*. I was *loyal*. I was willing to **protect you from harm**! I was *everything* Daniela was! **EVERYTHING**! Yet I never was the *apple to your eye*, *wasn't I*?"

That was a *near-miss* with my heart. His usage of Daniela's - then Dani's, use of *our love language*, was like tasting *arsenic*. The volcano in me was brewing, and I heard the *pops* of molten lava, the *singing of steam*.

I frowned, a growl slipping up through my throat, and Lars' mouth parted to make a scowl. His partners glared at me, leaning up against him and backing his point with *matching scowls*. Blondie was rapidly pressing the eject button.

"What the **HELL** are you *talking about*?" I asked, gripping the knife handle in my coat pocket. I wouldn't draw it on him or the clique. Not at all in a school environment. However, he was *testing me*, and he was stronger than me. This was *not* a dream enemy and not someone I could vanquish with a stab to the skin... but I shook those thoughts away and returned to Lars' claims.

So this entire time, Lars was *jealous* of my relationship with Daniela. He wanted to swap himself, *be* in her place, and get *my attention* for himself. This had gone on behind my back for *two years*.

Had he been *watching me the entire time*?

Then it *struck me in the gut*.

Briefly, I recalled someone *staring* at me and Daniela on the first day of sixth grade, then at various points throughout the semester until Daniela and I broke up and went our separate ways. That stare stopped following me after that, but just recently - a little before the month of the breakup anniversary - *it came back*.

The puzzle *clicked*. My lungs *screamed* for fresh air, and I felt my strength diminishing, leaking out of me and into the ocean of windswept dread.

"You **KNOW** what I'm talking about, **Winter**," snapped Lars, his words worthy of a poison cocktail, and he cracked his knuckles with alarming precision. "You never thought *highly* of me at all. You *always loved* Daniela more than you loved *me*. I wanted you to be my *friend* or someone *more*. I didn't want you to **abandon me**! But you chose to *split my heart in half* for a girl you had *harass me*. Ain't that right, *boys*?"

Bowlcut and Tieback nodded; the latter elbowed Blondie.

A nerve cleaved from within me, and immediately, I stepped up to him, steam blowing out of my ears. How *dare* he say I abandoned him for that *callous blue-sweatered demon*? Manipulate my words to make it seem like he was some sort of *victim*? I never even *liked him* like that! He was just a *fraud*, and his clique was *pretend*. Comprised of rag-tag *ficklehearts*.

Just like that, the leak of anger in me received a *temporary* bandage.

"Daniela and I ***HAVE NO CHEMISTRY***!" I roared, clenching two fists and about ready to blindly swing at him on impulse. I panted, taking in several jagged gasps, before I launched at him again, putting a reluctant curb on going gunslinging with my knife.

"Daniela and I *don't* get along. We aren't a *thing anymore*, Lars. We haven't been for a *year*. She is *my enemy*, and our business **isn't yours**. Neither your clique's. Neither is mine. Plus, Daniela didn't *harass* you out of Pinelake Park. You were making me *uncomfortable*, and she came to *defend me*. We were *friends* at the time!"

"Yeah. What did you do later? **Ruin your friendship**! You just wanted to *boast all around* PMS and make me feel **nothing**!" Lars reminded me.

"Do you honestly realize that you sound like a whiny *baby*?" Tieback quipped, his voice pitched to mimic a baby itself. Blondie *cringed*, and I dragged a foot on the ground.

"What a way to take the lowest jab at someone *innocent*," Bowlcut added. "You don't think I've witnessed something *this* pathetic and *trifling* before? You just put the *icing* on the *cake*."

This was *ominous*. *Very* ominous. The clear blue sky of the day was darkening with *storm clouds*.

I growled, almost ready to swing a punch and bust open Lars' chin from how many nerves he and his partners, sans Blondie, were paging to split in me. Fighting wasn't going to win my battle. They were better off holding a grudge and whining about it. No thanks, I'd like to uphold my lifestyle. *Scram*.

"**Shut it** and **go home** with your *friends*, Lars. I didn't even *like you that way*! I **never did**! It's not even *biologically possible* for me. My preference was *always* for *women like Daniela*. But I've moved on from love, Lars. I'm not looking for a soulmate to dazzle me. If you're searching for *solace*, you are **never** going to find it with *me*. That *clique* of yours should have filled the void. *Go*."

I prepared to turn around, refusing to give any apology to the obsessive freak who failed to win over my heart in elementary. Why did Lars have *such a pointless grudge*? I had *forgotten he even existed*, and here he was, trying to reopen something that was *never there*. It was healthier to not engage.

Better to forget this interaction never even happened. Cliques were always bound to be a *lava cake* of disaster. I hoped Lars' imploded.

Lars' clique didn't implode, it *augmented* with the *resentment*. Oh *hell*.

"Yes, I **WILL**!" Lars bellowed without warning, pointing at my chin, and I gasped, turning to him again. "You better be *seeing here*, you weak-kneed shell of a *goblin*. First, if you even **think** about insulting **my clique again**, I'm going to *fold you* like a *deck chair*. *Especially* if you dare speak a word about *my girlfriend*." He angled his head toward Blondie, googling how to escape a cultish obsession as we spoke. Her eyes were shimmering with disgust and amounting *horror*.

"Second, you have **no heart** in that **cold body of yours**. Have you ever considered *my point of view*?"

Tieback and Bowlcut sneered, snickering at the circus ring we were all standing in.

I cringed. Jesus, Lars was slipping more into a *carbon copy* of Daniela, malevolent words and threatening accosting forged into one, and I could feel the base of my spine well with a chilly feeling. The patch to the leak slipped off, the weight of the dread pushing through. The chill *deepened*. My fall into the icy lake had *begun*.

*Something's not right...*

"When you and Daniela were *together*, both of you only **reminded me** of how much I'd *lost*. I never, *ever* met someone like you again, Winter. You were *everything* to me. You were *amazing*. You were a *standout*. You were *everything* I had *wanted to be*! Yet no matter how hard I tried to flatter you, to even *get your attention*, I was *always second best* to Daniela. The school's *maniac bully*. I wanted **SOMETHING WITH YOU**!"

"I couldn't **GIVE YOU THAT**!" I retorted. "Lars, you *don't understand*! I didn't want to forcefully *cut you out*! But I had to draw the line when your behavior became *overzealous*! There were *multiple instances* where you made me feel uncomfortable-"

"It doesn't ***MATTER***! You're **too late** to fix everything now. You were *years* too late. You can never *take back what you did to me*, and I want you to **know** how much you've made me come to **hate you**. At least I can sleep happy knowing that *I* found love *again* while you *haven't*. Isn't that right, Desireé?"

*Years too late to fix everything...?* Desireé looked at me briefly, her blue eyes somber. Heartbroken it had come to this point. It was clear to me she had loved Lars for something *else*, something that was a butterfly's wing offered to her, but now that was *gone*, replaced by tidal *waves* of steeping jealousy. She hadn't wanted *this*.

She faced Lars with disapproval, brows furrowed. "You found *love again*, Lars, and I was happy to share something *beautiful* with you... but lately, you've grown *obsessed* with taking down someone very much *trying to move on and live her life*. You're *cynical*! *Don't* involve me in your game. Let Winter *be*."

Bowlcut scoffed. "Way to ruin the *punishment*, Des."

"Why are you *such* a goddamn *pacifist*?" Tieback complained.

Lars faced his clique with the smirk of a fox, *dark*, underlying intentions laced in every curve, every expression of his face. "Majken, Hendrick, *leave her*. If Des doesn't want to *participate* in *poetic justice*, let her *watch* it. Maybe it'll convince her that the sun *always* shines when karma is *slapped* onto the wrist of the *liar*..."

Majken and Hendrick nodded at him, turning their stares to me. Desireé was clutching her coat and giving me bushels of sympathy. She couldn't *stop* this.

Oh *god*. It was a *triple threat*.

The whole time I was at PMS, the clique had been seeking their own *revenge* on me for allegedly ditching Lars for Daniela. Daniela was *not* the only person to have a motive against me. Daniela *wasn't* the only person *actively hunting for me*.

A second, unexpected person, and two of his most *beloved* clique members, ones I had *never* even thought to be *hostile* or *vicious*, were going to *bury me low*.

Lars' grudge was *just* as extensive as Daniela's. But me and Daniela hadn't even had a loving interaction since *sixth grade*. Why had Lars refused to let go if we *clearly* despised each other? Why had he clung onto his envy and *wound himself around it*?

I felt my legs *shake*. My determination was weakening. The deeper I plunged into this icy lake, the more I felt my strengths and tactics *slipping*. Flooding into the water, detaching me...

"Lars! *Please listen to me*!" I begged, urging myself to not cry and to keep my facade of stone, crumbling at the seams, intact. "I *didn't* want to *hurt you*! I'm being **serious**! You just became too much to handle for me, and then I *fell in love* with somebody. I didn't want to *get back at you* or *make you feel awful* for hanging out with me. Yet I can't *see* someone I *like* in you. Me and Daniela *loathe* each other, *okay*? I wasn't meant to fall for you, but you have Desireé. You two love each other, and she's *better* and more *appealing* than I'll *ever* be. *Let go*. I have a different life now, and so do you. We're *done here*."

With a huff, I turned and took several steps toward home, eager to get out of this mess, eager to escape before I cracked, and eager to escape before Lars and his clique overcompensated for the most miniscule of offenses and would do *more* than physical scarring... *more* of something that was *too toxic* to put in the lobes of my brain.

Five steps near the curb, I heard a *hiss*, and then a hand strongly *clamped down* on my arm, biting into me with razor-sharp crocodile teeth. I gasped, fog caught in my breath. I was *submerged* in the murky, black depths of the ice water. *Pinned*.

Lars was going to watch me *drown*.

"***YOU ARE A FREAK***!" he screeched, spinning me around and getting so close to my face that saliva splattered onto my chin. "You act like you're **above everyone**, but **oh**, you **aren't**. You're a **cruel snob**, *Winter*. You used to *inspire me* out on the field and in class - and then you **damaged** my faith and confidence. My grades *declined*. I was *abandoned* by my peers. I lost **myself** in the fray, and it's ***ALL BECAUSE OF YOU***!"

*WHAT?*

How could *I* be the reason Lars went through a *recession*? Did he *seriously* have such a powerful emotional attachment to me? Vomit was bubbling in my stomach, and I heard it *hiss* and *growl*. I was feeling *sick*.

How much was Lars *actually* obsessed with me?

"Lars, what are you *talking about*?"

"Someone's in *denialllll*," Hendrick teased, and Majken snickered, her fingers tapping against her chin, watching the blossming argument shape in their favor. Desireé appeared as if she was going to kill herself when this was all said and done.

"What you did to **RUIN MY LIFE**!"

"Lars, we didn't even interact after *fifth grade*! I moved on from you. I had *no idea* you were struggling behind the scenes! You should have gotten help from your parents or from some other trusted adult, not sat there wallowing in your jealousy and *hating me*! I didn't want to *harm you*!"

"You very much **DID**! You neglected the blood on the concrete, the blood in the water..."

"Quit making it seem like I committed a *homicide*! Lars, I didn't *love you*! And that is **FINAL**! I'm... I'm not *into* guys. I'm not romantically attracted to them and *never will be*. The most I could ever view you as was just a friend. A *classmate*. I am *so sorry* if any part of me communicated that I resented you. I *don't*, I honestly *swear*. You have Desireé and your clique. Just... get *lost*!"

Lars' rage hardened, and his grip on my arm dug deep enough that I feared he would bust an artery and make my arm turn black and blue. Desireé had stood behind Lars with the clique, but was backing away, shaking her head. She *feared* what this was becoming, and seeing her eyes scan her boyfriend's *brute* muscles, trained from years on the football field... she saw the signs and didn't want to live to see the play unfold.

Majken and Hendrick were *willing* on for the *violence*. They *wanted* violence. These middle schoolers were *sick freaks*.

Desireé's eyes found mine. She opened her mouth, saying something that I couldn't hear because of the ringing and the pain from Lars' grip drowning out my other senses. Brief movements. A shake of her head. Clutching her coat. Thinned blue eyes oozing and bulging with sadness. A longing to set things *right*. Her mouth moved. I understood.

*I'm so sorry, Winter. You're not deserving of inhuman savagry*.

When Lars wasn't looking for the smallest ounce of a second, I mouthed to her, "I'm sorry." Her mouth flopped wide, and then it closed, and then her face fell.

Desireé was guilty. It was *not* her fault, but she was taking the blame for the ways of the clique. It wasn't her fault, but she had taken the brunt of it. Noticing me, though, she nodded and stepped up to Lars, a hand placed on his shoulder.

"Listen, Lars, pals... I don't think this is a battle *any of you* are picking wisely," she warned. "It's getting chilly. We need to walk home. Quarreling with Winter in *this manner*... this is *inhumane* and *heartless*. You claim she's spineless, but act like she just *crippled you* and *killed your dogs*. She *rejected* you without *ill intent*. Lars, this *isn't* something I'm going to *condone*. C'mon, Maj, Hendy. We're *leaving*."

I shuddered with relief, but I heard Lars snarl rabidly, heard the dissatisfied snickers of the clique, and my head was pushed to the bottom of the ocean floor.

"No, Desireé. We are *not* going home. Not until ***this tree-hugging freak pays for every burden she brought in my life***!"

"Coward! You go screw yourself. We have a *job* to *finish*, in case you're too *frostbitten* to notice," snarled Hendrick. Majken gave Desireé the middle finger, sticking out her tongue at her, and she blushed, backing up guiltily. Oh, Desireé...

*I need to stop this and help her... she's not like Lars. She could be someone I can befriend...!*

I tried to wrench my arm free, grunting with the pressure, but Lars didn't let me go, scamper away like *prey*. He glared at me, harsh, unforgiving, *unrelenting*. His dark blue overpowered mine. A chill fell over my body, and my legs became pudding at the base.

It was the first time in months, but I *felt it* in my cold veins, the roar of the winter weather, the drowning of my *outrage* and *hope*.

An emotion that, deep down, would spawn *rage*. The *backbone* that made me a *hunter*... but when too emboldened, would instead *scar* the bleeding flesh of the heart.

*Fear*.

I *feared* Lars. I *feared* this environment. I *feared* what he would do to get his vengeance on me, using his clique to his advantage. And I feared what he could do to poor, *poor* Desireé if she kept choosing to take my side instead of everyone else's messed-up point of view.

"Lars!" I pleaded. "Please just let me go! I'm *sorry*! I'm so *sorry* if I *ever* hurt you. I'm genuinely being *honest*! But Desireé is right; this is a battle *none of us should be fighting*. This is a farce. Just let *go*!"

"Listen with your *heart*, Lars! *Please*!" Desireé cajoled, but her words missed the mark. By then, it was fruitless.

Lars did let go - *literally*.

"You want me to let go? Let go of **everything**? All of the **pain**? The people that looked like *you*? The people that **reminded me** of what you did? Seeing you **happy** and **smiling** and not noticing that I was **dying inside**? You bastard. You fool. You're not sorry, Winter. ***YOU WILL NEVER BE SORRY***!"

With a yank of my paralyzed body, he *threw me* violently aside; my feet left the air, and the blades of the freezing wind sliced gashes into my skin, my body, my coat.

Freely falling, plummeting, screeching frantically, until I impacted the Arctic's snow face-first. I was *trapped* there, crushed by a burdenous backpack, the weight of *envy*. I met a swirling view of stars and snowflakes, cold, hypothermic. Frost set into my body, chilling it and fizzling out the crackling flames in the fireplace, and my eyes *stung* from the cold, its talons digging into the sensitive flesh.

I yelped, struggling, pawing for air with feeble, pinkening, ice-solid hands. Voices echoed, rung with a cracked bell. Whispers. Directional agony. Chaos.

Which way was *up*? I felt air on my left and *rolled* with a depleting self-consciousness. My eyes *throbbed*. *Stung* like acid, *bulging* in a quest for *warmth*. They wouldn't be getting that and would only keep on persistently aching.

I turned right-side up, woozily facing the sky. Clear, cloudless, and designed to be *fatal*.

I met the gaze of the *sun*.

It *burned*.

"**AAAH**!" I screamed, planting my face in the snow and desolately rubbing at my eyes. They were on *fire*. *Cold* wildfire. I hated everything, wanted to *hide* under a leaf, a tree, *somewhere* where I couldn't be found. Seen. Laid bare and spread, cut open and dissected. Vivisected. Lars was there, and Desireé was there, and the other two were there, and they'd just witnessed *humiliation*. Utter *embarassment* on *school grounds*.

It wasn't officially, but what they did to me was a barebones form of *hazing*... and from their amounting whispers and malice trickling out from parted, traitorous lips, it was a gem-cut omen that *this was the start of something criminal*.

I could barely see, eyes sewn shut from the ailments, and I kept pawing, wincing, on the cusp of tears. My heart, caught in my throat, my body, cold on the inside, sweating on the outside. Winter had come, but it hadn't for me. Nature had *betrayed me* in those minutes of terror.

I heard laughing. Guffaws, *loud* laughs. *Booming* bellows of *an amused clique*.

*No... no!*

Lars and his clique were *laughing* at my snow-drenched coat, my leaking backpack, my red, swollen, ice-crusted and sun-burned eyes. My drooping hair, my miserable, depressing, pathetic state. Majken was slapping her knees, leaned up against a beet-cheeked Hendrick, who's eyes were *watering* from the haze in the air. At the head of it all, Lars, pointing at me, turning back to his confidantes, and *hollering* to the gods to let them know of the atrocities he had brandished upon me.

He *loved* every second of my *misery*. He loved every second of *torturing me*, all while his girlfriend looked at him with disgust, and his clique with *twisted admiration*. Desireé had been hoodwinked with a Prince Charming *love interest* with expansive sport and an ego twined in golden promise and now that she had the truth - that she was just as disposable if she didn't *obey*, she was *petrified*.

We saw each other on equal territory. It was only for a second that my heart wanted to cross the shattered ice on the sidewalk and give her a hand.

Lars' tyranny split the territory in unequal halves.

Lars was not just a football fan and player. He was also *avid* on dealing with his *grudges* - when people crossed him, or his *clique* he wanted them to *suffer*. Leading fans under his wing, then dropping them out from the sky. Like Desireé, I was *dispensable*, and the clique had been fully brainwashed into blind *worshipping* of their savior. They *loved* this. Loved *me*, the Hunchback of Notre Dame *without the Hunchback*. There was a goddamn reason why my motto was *out of sight and out of mind*.

Lars and the clique continued laughing, and Desireé, having had enough, pulled his arm roughly. Her lake-blue eyes were lapping with *rage*. "Lars! What the *hell* is *wrong* with you!? Winter didn't do *anything* to deserve *public humiliation* or a prank as *severe* as this! This is almost **hazing**! You've blown this *significantly* out of *proportion*!"

The laughter *ceased*, stifled by *objection*. "Can we *please* get rid of her?" Majken complained, messing with her fingernails. Hendrick nodded at Lars, and he nodded back. He then rounded on Desireé, angered that the subordinate wolf was not obeying its pack leader.

I wished I had a choice, but what could I do, being shriveled up, soaking wet with snow, and trembling with fear knowing that this argument was just delaying the inevitable?

"*Desireé*. If you aren't going to *play your part* and get me my *closure*, then I think we're better off being *irrelevant* to our goals."

"Pull the breakup card with me, you damned son of a *gun*! I don't give a *shrimp*! This is **cruelty**! This wasn't a *prank*. You wanted to torture Winter for *cheap vengeance*. In fact, you *lied* to the *clique* that Winter was a *turncoat*! She didn't yearn to hurt you at **any point**. She's just trying to live a *regular life*!"

"I warned you that she was a *conchie*," snorted Hendrick, rolling his eyes. Majken had seen silver and was searching for it in the depths of her fingernails. Lars turned to Hendrick, and gave a small nod, blue eyes moldered with anger. In seconds, he gripped the coat of his ex.

"You are *not* apart of the *clique* anymore. If you want to side with the *enemy*, the *traitor*, the reclusive *tree-licking* freak... then *fine*. But *don't* come *crawling back*. You've *sidetracked* me enough from finishing *my business*."

He shoved her away, and cheeks flushed, she stepped back and ran off. She'd been outfoxed in this fight, but I had no time to even feel pity for Desireé or try to help her. Run after her. Befriend her.

*Lars wasn't finished with me*. My hair tips dripped with more water, and my eyes twitched, stinging from the sun and snow, but also from tears. I knew they were going to fall, and my enemy knew just as well that he'd *broken* me.

He had one task left to scratch off: *kick the dirt onto the grave*.

"She doesn't understand that you're the *definition* of *calumny*. The definition of *evil*. The definition of what it is to be *blind* to everything around you. You're too busy living a fantasy to realize that you're *blind* to everything in front of you, Winter. You're blind to *snow*. The *sun*. Hurting others and leaving them to *wallow* in their *filth*. I hope you felt a *fraction* of the pain I felt today, writhing in the snow and then blinding yourself in it all again. That's **what you are**. You're *Snowblind*!"

*Snowblind.*

*Snowblind.*

*Snowblind.*

My heart was in freefall, hitting the bottom of my stomach and promptly colliding with a floor of ice. It splintered, cracked into a thousand untreatable pieces, bleeding into my cavities.

Lars called me *Snowblind.*

I was, to him, someone called *Snowblind*. A fool who was *blind* to *everything*.

"Snowblind? Ingenius," Majken whispered to Hendrick, who replied back with, "Now *that* has a *ring* to it... Snowblind, *Snowblind*..."

All of nature was *executed* point-black in front of my own two eyes.

"N-No... d-don't call me that!" I begged, gagging from my bleeding heart, the anguish, peril, fear, and blood staining me from the inside out, but it was too late. Too late to stop Lars and the clique. Too late to make amends.

I rose to my feet, unsteady, and I swayed, my backpack's weight wanting to pull me back to the freezing bank of snow, which bore the marks of an empty grudge turned into bullying cranked to the *extremes*.

My entire body wanted to betray me.

"Lars... p-please," I beseeched in a rushed stutter, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please... you don't have to call me that. Please leave me alone..."

I was *empty* inside. *Empty*. My heart was filled with *fear*. *Foreboding*, as Lars stared me up and down, smiling with wicked glee, intending to keep me here for as long as he could so I could be the clique's *chew toy*.

He *never* wanted me to *run away from my new reality*.

I'm running away from my past I left behind

I'm looking for answers, but I'm blinded by the light

"Oh *no*, *Snowblind*," he hissed, savoring the sadistic taste of my new nickname. "I'm not through with this yet. We're only *just* beginning. *We're* going to tell *the entire school* about you! They're going to know *who you are*! They'll know of all the things you did to *torment me*, and then you'll get karma served *right to your doorstep*. You will **ONLY** be known as a *precious little fool* named **SNOWBLIND**!"

I shrieked, stumbling towards the curb in a panic, and Lars and his partners followed, closing in on me. I couldn't *breathe*. My heart had lodged itself in my throat again, the broken pieces cutting into my sanctum. I was internally bleeding, bleeding *everything*, *my hope*, *strength*, *protection*, *salvation*.

My facade was *nothing*.

Lars wanted to *humiliate me*. He made a *promise*. And if he could quietly stalk me for nearly *two years*, biding his time and waiting for the ideal opportunity to *attack*, with two *brutes* in a *legit clique*, he was very well going to have *the hounds* upon me.

I'm lost in the music

Can I stay here for the night?

Desireé had completely fled the scene by now, the last traces of her wisps in the snow. I was *by myself*, fighting *three* monoliths who, at any moment, would go Daniela's route and want *blood*.

The ground was unstable under my feet. I felt cracks under me. The world was blurred, sinking, morphing into faces. Lars laughed, closing in for the *kill*. More illusions of him joined, cackling at me and pointing, whispering, "Snowblind! Snowblind! Snowblind!"

Majken and Hendrick chimed in, until there was a *cacophany* of *Snowblind*.

My breathing became labored. I heard *war*.

*War*. *Humiliation*. Public *torture*. *Hazing*.

Everything I had, crushed by Lars' large, muscled hands. *Home*. Being sent to *foster care*. All because of a *name*.

A *vile* name he *vowed* to spread around the school.

My head spun, trapped in vertigo. Tears fell from my eyes, sore, stung, and half-shut. I didn't want to bear *this*. This shouldn't have been in my waking dream. Who was I to think a waking dream was feasible without an *inconsolable nightmare*?

It wasn't.

"She's not armed with that *contemptible* defense anymore. You think we strike now?" Hendrick proposed.

Lars ratified the proposition by morphing into *Mammon*, determining my size, my value, and what I could *bring* to him that would feed his envy.

A *shadowed rebirth*.

"Your name will be born in **INFAMY**!" All of a sudden, he lunged toward me, and in that moment, I fully, completely, mentally, emotionally, and physically *snapped*.

I promise I'll be gone in the morning

Out of sight and out of mind

"***LEAVE ME ALONE***!"

With that, I took off *running*, sprinting towards the Piney Woods with everything I *had*. What willpower I had, what *anything* I had. I was *running* through traffic, through rugged ground, through *snow*. Blind to the road ahead, the cars, the people, the trees, *any* animate or inanimate object in my *sight*.

I was *blind*. I didn't look behind me, and didn't look forward. I didn't know *where* I was going.

*Where* my heart *wanted* to be.

There was no *where*. This was running for *survival*.

Lars could be chasing me into the Piney Woods as I spoke. He could have sent the *clique* after me, have Hendrick strangle me with his large hands while Majken snapped pictures for the school's Snapchats to make *viral*. He could be hunting me, wanting my *dead body*. He would tell the *whole school*. He could work with *Daniela*. Daniela *assuming* control of the *clique* and declaring that I was the school's *jester*.

I ran *harder*, pushing my body to the *limit*. I had to be *out of sight and out of mind* and *now*. I had to *disappear*. Safety wasn't guaranteed until there was *shelter*. *Lockdown*.

Snowblind

Out of sight and out of mind

My breathing and heart were in disarray. I couldn't *breathe*. My legs were *aching*, dodging trees, stumps, boulders, and snowy banks I could have easily sunk into, letting myself melt away and decay... but any amount of time I wasted to rest would be consumed by Lars and the others, and they didn't need *any* other headline stories besides the monster they *birthed*.

I was blindly *running*. Running, my sole *instinct*, my sole *escape*. The sole power I had that Lars *didn't*.

My mind was in threads, noodles swept away in the blizzard, buried under mounds of white paste. I just ran *places* in the woods, my tracks smeared everywhere. Zigzagged across the snow. Inconsistent with straight paths or borderlines. Trails to *nowhere*, imprints to where I had roamed *before*.

Nothing was *familiar*. Nothing gave me *hope*. There was *nothing*, with the only thing being my footprints hopefully being enough to deter Lars and the clique from finding me, *if* they had chosen to track in a hot pursuit.

I still *ran*. I just kept *running*, and *running*, and *running*, *desperate* to get away from the burdens, the pain, the sight of *any* human or living being, until I collapsed by the streambed.

Snowblind

Out of sight and out of mind

The world was black and white, my body breathless, cold, life essence drained and purged. Lightning split me into two halves, and I gagged again, vomiting into the creekbed and reeling. My body *ached*, *cold*, *purged* of its blooms and flowers. Petals of secrecy, ripped off my skin. The thorns of winter roses embedded in flesh.

For two minutes, I caught my breath, and the only sounds in the snowy October woods were the rustle of branches and my heart *roaring* in protest of my body's movements. I was sorry for it. Sorry for everything. Sorry to no one in particular for *failing*.

I staggered into my cabin two minutes later, locking the door, drawing the knife, shielding the windows, and falling to my knees.

I ripped off everything but my shirt and leggings. My body fell frigid to the floor, sinking into it. I curled into a ball, still unable to breathe. I heaved. Dry heaved. Multiple times over, choking over myself, eyes wide open. A seizure from the inside, suffocation from the outside. The extraction of any will I was clinging onto, leaking out of my palms and into the floor.

*Lars has a distorted view of me. He's weaponized me. He's going to tell the entire school about me, and if he won't, the clique will. He wants me to be Snowblind. He's not holding anything back. I'm ruined. I'm broken. They're going to make a mockery out of who I am, contort it to persuade everyone I'm a fraud and martyr... I'm going to lose everything...*

His threats were *real*. He *meant everything*. He wanted me *humiliated*.

He wanted me to be *exposed*. And now he had the nickname to prove his twisted point.

To him and his conniving followers, I was *Snowblind* - blind to reality, and blind to *everything* that was around me.

And then there was Daniela, and then *everything* fell together. I remembered *everything*.

The November night of bloodshed and betrayal. Daniela ditching me. Running away. Daniela turning evil and harassing me. Wanting me to suffer. Lars wanting me to suffer. Two peas of a pod. Two sides of the same coin.

*Everything hurt*.

I couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Couldn't taste, smell, touch, or *move*. I was *paralyzed*.

Huddled in fear, anxiety, locked in *dread*.

I couldn't bear another day of this. I couldn't bear another day of this life.

I couldn't bear the trauma, the pain, the survival, the cruelty. The despicable. The inconceivable.

I was so numb that the only thing I could do to sleep was sob into my pillow, breaking, cracking, falling apart into a million pieces, because I knew that tomorrow, my entire reputation would be *burned alive on the stake*.

Tomorrow came, and I wished it *never had*.

The night was blighted by terror and paranoia. I didn't sleep for a mere *minute*, laying on a cold floor, fidgeting, kicking off my blankets, panicking, sinking in the icy ocean, its claws silencing me from screaming, finding help.

I almost vomited several times from the shock. The whiplash of it all. Remembering Lars' decree that *my name* would be *reborn* in infamy, reared out of a hateful, envious *monster* and two more monsters, two *sinister creatures*.

When I woke up, I ached to throw myself back into my pillow and blankets and disappear into another world, but I'd lost the oracle. Everything was gray. Dull. The awe of *Snowlight*, once what was so arcane, had *left*.

I was facing a fight I was *never* going to win. Once again, I was back to being *roadkill*. The vultures were *chuckling* from their place in hell, aware that I had *never* bested them and now was walking *carrion*.

That morning, I didn't devour breakfast, didn't touch a thing except my school items. Didn't think about anything. The cabin was black and white. Gray. Color deserted, heading for the next town around.

My heart was a ghost town.

What was even the point in *anything*? Running around the woods? Climbing trees? Finding peace in nature? Peace didn't exist, and neither did harmony.

My view was discolored. Pulled out of place. Dislocated. I was a skeleton, walking forth to school with no blood and no skin, no pulse in me, nothing.

*Nothing*.

I just blindly stumbled through the Piney Woods, through the snow, until I reached the ridge that led down to the school.

Another day for PMS. *Execution day* for me.

Yet what choice did I have? Run like a coward, stay home, have authorities dogpile me and lock me away in a broken, borderline-abusive system? Put me in juvenile prison for breaking the *law*? More fatalities than the one Lars had committed yesterday?

The only way forward was *hell* - and through a saga of *bloodstained infamy*.

I'm running away from the past I left behind

I'm looking for answers, but I'm blinded by the light

I traipsed into that hell, through some students, through the snows of the sidewalk, the chills in the air, the puffs of breath in the wind.

Bracing for the imminent genocide. Faces to devour me. Leopards ready to pounce, to tear the fragile skin off my face, spilling my brains out into the snow.

But a part of me *still* hoped, *bathed* in denial, that Lars was *bluffing*.

I'm lost in the music

Can I stay here for the night?

Lars *had* to be bluffing. There was no *way* in *heaven* he and the clique was going to inform every student at PMS about *me*. *Me*, a face in the crowd, someone they'd *never* care about? I *wasn't* special. The clique were playing mind games.

I wasn't the *enlightened* one. The *chosen* one. Lars was just a football player; he couldn't coax the *entire school* into thinking that I was a *fraud* and worthy of a cruel nickname, *right*? Majken and Hendrick couldn't back something so derisory as jealousy, *right*?

I couldn't wait outside any longer, couldn't stall fate. I couldn't run. I didn't turn back, and as much as I wanted to shrink into a ball in the corner and *die*, my body acted on its own.

I promise I'll be gone in the morning

Out of sight and out of mind

And the second I stepped foot inside, approaching the glass dome, I was snared *right* into Lars' trap.

Lars was *there* with Majken and Hendrick, though Desireé had disappeared into the crowd, her blonde hair not to be seen.

Lars *waited* for me to show, smugly anticipating my slow, prolonged lumber into the building. When I graced him with the shy, shaken, sleep-deprived me, I very much became an early *Christmas present* that he was eager to unbox. He pulled off the ribbon and saw a great amoount of *potential* that *had* to be capitalized upon like fast money.

"You look **rather** worse for **wear**, *Snowblind*!"

Majken and Hendrick burst out laughing.

*Everyone's eyes were upon me now*. Staring, cutting deep at my mortified expression, my shaking legs, my clenched fists.

I shook my head at Lars, desperatedly pleading, *insisting* he give that name to *anyone* that wasn't *me*, but he held firm, *glaring* at me. Smirking. He knew *exactly* what he'd done to me. Majken and Hendrick said *it*, that mangled *fox* of a name, over and over, and the crowd was *contemplating*. *Thinking* about the power that they, too, could aspire to earn.

Snowblind

Out of sight and out of mind

Without even thinking, opening my mouth to incrimate Lars and the clique, argue that *they* deserved to be *shamed* and *glared* at by the prying eyes of these *hounds*, I bolted to the gym, just running blindly ahead through staff and studnet and ducking behind the bleachers in a panic. Shadow overcame me.

Okay, Winter. Think of your positives. It was just Lars and the clique, should-be nobodies. No one else uttered the name, and I was in hiding, where the pitch-black and dusty space would shield me from the patronizing press, if there was one.

This wasn't *bad*... still *horrific* and making me so *catatonic* that I couldn't hear anything in the gym but *sirens* in my ears... maybe Lars *was* bluffing. Maybe the clique was in over their heads. They just wanted to *bully me*. Stand in Daniela's boots, if that was even possible. Maybe there *was* hope...

Snowblind

Out of sight and out of mind

It was only for a moment that I believed that Lars *lied* about the extent of his power. He had no *authority*, neither did the clique. He was just a misguided, *rotten* punk who would get his just desserts sooner or later. Nobody would attempt to stake a claim on my soul and ruin my reputation.

I'd be *okay*. I'd go back to *normal*. Lars' words were *nothing*, and he'd even pushed his own girlfriend away from him as a plus. Wasn't that karma *enough*?

However, denial is a river that can only churn for so long. It froze over with the cold weather, the blizzard that encroached on my territory. Its rushing pulse, an unmovable floe of ice. A jammed river would summon *trouble*.

That day passed by without another hitch. Next time, I wouldn't be lucky.

Next time, I wouldn't *escape* without *scratches*.

Next time I stepped into Pineshadow Middle School, I was a five-star meal about to be served to an *army* of *demons*.

I trotted in the following day, and eyes were *upon me*. Glancing at me. I heard the sneers. The laughs. They echoed, looped in my ears which I hid under my hoodie frenentically.

It was no use.

"Watch it, *Snowblind*!"

"Get out of my way, *Snowblind*!"

"Just get outta here, *Snowblind*!"

"Why so *flighty*, *Snowblind*!"

"That's the girl named *Snowblind*!"

Each time I bumped into somebody, brushed *too close*, invaded *territory* not marked, people *attacked*. They bit me, tore into me with the name Lars handed to them for free, no tax to come with it. They *savored it*. I saw the pleasure in their eyes, the hushed whispers, the snickers.

Their eyes had no emotion. They just went with the bandwagon, and when that bandwagon grew, it was an *insurmountable threat* that would gun me down under the dome, leaving my body for *dead*.

Lars and his clique would wait for me every morning, reveling in the limelight, pushing every domino to the floor, and eating their cake the moment it was *served*.

Just for tonight, let your thoughts be free

Getting to class was walking through *another* mine field. The mines and bombs were *students* that mocked me, laughed at me, *whispered* about me behind my back. The whispers that drifted in the mist, through the chatter, and to my ears.

They burned. My cheeks were singed with sheer *embarassment*. I was a nervous wreck out for everyone to see, everyone to *scorn*.

I tried to have hope that there were innocent children in this school. Normal students who went to class, obeyed rules, and were jovial and ripe with school positivity. That there would be people calling on this *reckless bullying* to *stop*.

But sometimes, it's a raw and harsh truth that in this case, was forced down my throat like the hot coals from the blacksmith's forge.

There is *no justice*. Justice *won't* be served for crimes committed in the *dark*. Victims will continue to be *victimized*.

Just for tonight, won't you come with me?

And Lars continued to wage his revenge against me, huddling in corners during passing period and whispering to his friends, who whispered to their friends, who whispered to their friends.

The blizzard descended on Pineshadow Middle School, and with it, a curse of *blindness*.

Everyone mixed it together in a witch's brew, and every passing period, they'd pass the poison to me, put it to my lips, and force me to swallow the unsweteened taste of my pride.

"How *blind* are you feeling today, *Snowblind*?"

"You're an *ugly* creature, Snowblind!"

"Run away and go home, Snowblind!"

"Hey, Snowblind! Care to demonstrate just how blind you are to everything?"

"You'll regret hurting Lars, Snowblind!"

Just for tonight, let the lines get blurred

"Snowblind! Snowblind! Snowblind!"

Boys, girls, of all grades, all ages, taking part in medieval tortures on a girl they barely knew, yet taking the word of a name *widely recognized in school*. Word of the *football captain* and his comrades.

Someone actually *admirable*.

There was *no escape* from this prison. No escape from the snow blindness.

No disassocation from *Snowblind*.

My mental health *rapidly declined*, and I laid low in class, never staring anyone, not even my teachers, in the eye. Barely speaking. Barely completing classwork. Then trudging home, escaping more name calling, avoiding falling in a hazerdous heap into the streambed, and then going home, staring off, frozen. Collapsing in my makeshift bed. Sobbing. Sleeping off pain and waking up to pain the next day.

The cycle repeated.

I even stopped visiting Rex entirely, my confidence too low, *banished* to the white void, to even see her. To even *tell* her of what Lars and his clique had done.

Would she even believe someone as *popular* as *Lars* would do such a thing to me, when it all seemed like something *Daniela* would take immense, oversaturated pleasure in instead? Why hadn't she picked up on this? Why was life always going to be this *demeaning*?

Just for tonight

*This is no big deal. This is no big deal. This is no big deal,* I denied, spiraling into the void as October passed into November, and the snows melted, yet promised to be back by December. I wasn't even excited for winter, *my favorite season*.

My dreams were stained with nightmares of giggles, everyone shouting, *Snowblind! Snowblind! You're a fool named Snowblind!* at the top of their lungs. A shadowy figure with red eyes, heralding the taunts, polarized me, dunked me in my own blood. Left me there to rot, to decompose, as the vultures plucked at my frail hummingbird wings.

When I wasn't only in a dream and always in a nightmare, I was at school, laughed at, tormented at lunch, in class, thrown notes that mocked me for my appearance and for supposedly being blind. *I wasn't even blind*.

Yet I was a *coward*. I didn't fight back. I didn't have the vigor to, and my rage, my *signature* fury that made me *fierce*, a *force* to be *reckoned with*, was *depleted*.

Ooh, Snowblind

Out of sight and out of mind

I wasn't screeching bloody murder, sabotaging shadowy minions' dreams of conquering my woods. I wasn't calculated, using my temper to *push* foes away from me, stave off defeat.

I didn't have my waking dreams to heal my wounds, to make this a new world where I could preside over all and see into a secret language only spoken by the woods.

I was *hardly* out of sight and out of mind. I let my guard down.

I *failed* myself.

This, thus far, was my *first* dosage of what *reality* was *actually* like.

I *never* wanted this *reality*. I didn't *ask* for this.

Just for tonight, come with me

Blindly

No matter where I *ran*, where I *went*, where I *hid*, *the ghost of my past and present would always follow*.

What did I even stand for anymore? What was I *fighting for*? Being ridiculed every single day of my miserable, lonely existence?

I was reduced to walking low, eyes on the ground, never meeting anyone in the face, never wanting to speak to anyone.

I couldn't *trust* anyone. Anyone who wasn't me had proved to be a *menace*.

November progressed at a beating pace, and I was some kind of half-eaten carcass with a flesh-binded name. *Snowblinds* echoed off the walls. Dug into my skin. Hung off my skeleton like clothes at the dry cleaners. I was being *maimed*. *Hazed*.

Silently maimed, orchestrated by the school's popular football boy and his perfect, *perfect* clique. Something snapped in me eventually, whether it was through the constant crying, hidden breakdowns in class, shrieking and running at the name calling, or the psychological hermit I was becoming.

I just had *enough*. I couldn't *bear this anymore*. This was *dying*, *dying* all over again. It was the night I ran from home and sobbed under that godforsaken tree. I should have moved on from it. *I wasn't moving anywhere*.

You know when you keep running

But your legs are standing still?

I didn't even put thought into reaching out to her, but I did after someone mocked me in plain sight, jeering at me, "Your *emo* type isn't *welcome here*, *Snowblind*!"

I was absentmindingly running away, doing what I knew best, needing the comfort of the cabin, but I bumped into her white overcoat, and she shuffled with papers in her arms.

"Goodness, sweetness! Watch where you're-"

I looked up at her.

Rex *immediately* knew that something was *dreadfully wrong*, gasping, blue eyes thin as sand grains.

It's like you're stuck in a nightmare

But you keep doing it for the thrill

As it was the end of the day, she took me into her office and gave me a cup of tea, all while, in tears, in painful, blistering agony, and through recounts between trauma and bullying so ghoulish it made me hiccup and choke, I told her *everything* Lars and the clique had done to me. Everything *the school* had done.

Rex was *aghast*. Absolutely *mortified* by what had taken place at her institution. But, she gave me a flare of hope, just an *ember*, when she *believed me*.

"I believe you, Winter. This behavior is *repulsive*, and at PMS, it will be not be *condoned in any situation*. While I cannot punish Lars or his friends straightaway without catching them in the act, I *will* have more vigilance and review tapes to determine which students need *appropriate punishment*. You will not fight this battle by yourself. I'm here for you if you ever need to vent, okay?"

Well this is reality, you only live it once

So wake up from your dreams

We talked for a little after that, and it was mostly Rex keeping her distance from me, yet soothing me to the best she could attempt.

I was supposed to be calmer after this. Calmer after the tea, a warm liquid that brought down my stress levels. I should have been going home, trying to ignore the bullying, remember who I was. Remember Rex's encouragement.

But I'd forgotten that when gossip spreads, it's like a *wildfire*. And when it gets into the wrong hands, *horror* is bound to escape. So are *rumors*. And so are *deadly secrets*.

I had forgotten the *one person* who *thrived* off using rumors to her advantage. Had she gotten wind of what Lars had done?

But just for tonight, let the lines get blurred

Let your thoughts be free

I stepped out of PMS, reluctantly putting my coat hood down to breathe, as Rex had instructed me. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Nothing was going to harm me, and I was just heading to my safe space.

In and out, breathing. My shoulders had just dropped, and my face had stopped trying to yaw down. Calm.

And then the rug I stepped on was *pulled out from under my feet*.

A bulky, black shirt sleeve hardly nudged me in the shoulder, almost sending me into the back of someone's car. Lars and the clique appeared in my blurred vision, snorting; Desireé was some distance away, in her own land and disregarding her clique. We batted eyes, and she gave me a nod of sympathy. Majken and Hendrick forced her away from the scene with menacing snarls, and then she was gone.

*No...*

"Hope you're enjoying the *attention*, *Snowblind*... *have a nice day*!" Lars spat all too cutely, earning guffaws from the clique, and then they were the Three Musketeers off to save the princess.

(Let your thoughts be free)

*When am I ever gonna get space to recount my thoughts...?* I shook my head, frazzled and rubbing my aching shoulder.

That had to be the end of today. Of course it had to end with Lars and the clique being the mulish, entitled, *savage* brats they were, and it had to end in even more of the taunt that I had bargained for. Great. Just freaking *great*.

At least now I could go home and collapse into my bed, avoid more despotic humiliation...

I took a single step towards the Piney Woods.

"Well, *this* was a twist I didn't **expect** on my **bingo card**."

*Everything* in my body turned to *spiked ice*. An icicle went through *my heart*.

*NO! Don't tell me she's here! Don't tell me she's behind me and witnessed that!*

Gasping, I whipped around and clamped my mouth *shut*.

*Daniela Burton Vunquist now knew of my most horrifying secret*.

Out of *all* of Pineshadow Middle School, *Daniela* was the *most satisfied* that everyone else *did her work for her*.

*Daniela* was now aware that *I* was *Snowblind*. *Why* didn't I think that she *wouldn't* find out? How *wasn't* she aware before?

It was a question I didn't need to ask for her, as she approached me with her trademark demonic smirk.

"Not going to *lie* to you, *Snowblind*... but seeing that football-infested *wannabe asshat* guy and his *sardines* for *minions* doing **my job** in **my school**? I thought they *stole my freaking thunder*. **Nobody** dominates at PMS but **me**. But *this*? Finding out that this *Snowblind* name calling isn't just multiple students, but *you*? *Ooh*. This is *brilliant*! *Magnificent*, I say! It *suits you*, tie and *everything*. This year couldn't have gotten even more **glorious**!"

Just for tonight, let your thoughts be free

This year couldn't have gotten even more *torturous*.

I was deflated, but *Daniela* getting into the bullying and amplifying it with her *hellfire* was a new can of worms. It *reeked* of malice. It *reeked* of pure *evil*. I was hoping Daniela would never find out this all started with *me*.

Now it'd *end with me*.

"Just leave me alone, Daniela," I growled, blinking away the teeming tears. "Why can't you understand that this is already punishment for me?"

She blinked, batting her eyelashes innocently, and she wrung her hands. "Nah, I *fully* understand that it's punishment. *However*, seeing you be an *open wound*, one that *gushes* blood and can be *plunked*, piece by piece, until the house of cards falls... you don't know the *elation I'm feeling*. You don't know how much I want *you* to suffer for *ruining my life*, but this is a *thrilling* head start! And I'm going to *tear* that wound *wide open*. I want to see you *bleed*, Winter. You will *bleed* until I *finish* my *business* with you and get what I *deserve*."

Just for tonight, won't you come with me?

"You deserve *nothing*!" I managed to retort through tears.

"Don't make me *go over this again* with you. You're *impossible* to speak with because you're a *hermit crab* who can't survive *five seconds* in the wild without a *shell* on your *damn back*. You think you can *always* get away when fleeing when things get shifty under your feet. You're *wrong*. I can see *right through you*, and there's a *hole* in your heart. You're made of **glass**."

"Get a *life*!"

"You have no life," Daniela sneered. "Not a *normal* one. You're **not** one of us, Winter. You serve as a daily reminder to me that I *failed* at love. I **never** had your heart. Your *loyalty*. Your *kindness*. Because we're all strangers to each other, *aren't we*? You're a stranger to the *real me*. And that real me is going to become *harsher* the more you flow along with that **denialism** of yours. You can tell me you're *strong* and *passionate* and have the temper to prove it... but why is your tail between your legs? I *smell* your fear... you **don't fool me**."

I stepped back, shaking my head, feeling the tail between my legs. Daniela wasn't just taking blows with a hammer, she was *pinpointing my weaknesses*. Her acute intelligence was a *curse*.

She was *right*. I *was* transparent. She *saw* through me, and I was terrified, paralyzed in the fear, the trepidation, the spinning top I was enclosed in.

Just for tonight, let the lines get blurred

I was meek. I was cowering. I was feeding Daniela's sadism, and she towered over me, her obsidian form standing supreme and *Herculean*. She had class. I was just a *peasant* with *no life*. *Nothing*.

I didn't have the fire to remotely challenge her anymore.

"*Temper*, *temper*," Daniela taunted, pacing around me with a finger outstretched, poised to curl under my chin. She struck, keen and *fast*, and had me locked onto her orange-amber eyes. I didn't see anything around me but *fire*. A *raging* one.

"What I say today will be *marked in this school's brickwork*. You are *nothing*. You are **dead to me**. You are *hated* by *everyone* in this school, especially by *me*. Nobody *likes you*, you *overcooked* piece of *pavement pigeon*, and you are *worthless*. You *destroyed* my life once, **don't** forget it. Since you seem to like to *dodge* your problems like you're fighting in a *Mission Impossible* movie, I'm going to be **straight to the fricking point**."

Daniela latched onto my throat, squeezing it, and I gulped, letting out a muffled cry. I fell limp in her arms. There was just no point in fighting, or speaking out, when *everyone* in this school twiddled their thumbs to ambush me every single day.

Just for tonight

"You will **NEVER** run away from this **forever**. One day, this is all going to *backfire* on you. Your fake reality, your busted ideals. You will be hated by *everyone* in Pineshadow. You will be synonymous with **cowardice**. Until then, *I'm* taking matters into *my own hands*. You haven't *nearly suffered enough* for what you've done. I have loose ends to close with you, and I'm going to close them *soon*. Your days are on a ***fine line***, ***Winterlyn Falin McCormick***. I **want** my revenge. And there is **nothing** you will **ever do** that will persuade me ***OTHERWISE***!"

Releasing her live, writhing prey, Daniela stepped away, watching me claw for breath and holding my throat, which had been dealt a pink mark from her grip. She stood there, smiling. Savoring this. Putting the seasoning on it for *more* flavoring.

This school year turned from optimistic to a *nightmare*.

My *worst nightmare*.

And it was *far*, *far*, *far* away from ever being *over*.

Ooh, Snowblind

Out of sight and out of mind

"What was the last thing you told me when **you broke up with me**?" Daniela questioned, thoughtfully resting her finger under an angular chin and then snapping her fingers, having always had the answer but having longed to tease me and draw this out longer.

Daniela *loved* long, slow, and *agonizing* fights.

"Oh, *right*. Until *death* do us part. Death never did us part. We're still alive - and somehow, you're alive, miraculously. But the more you keep playing Russian roulette, you clumsy kitty, your *nine lives* are going to be poured into the *nearest sewer*."

It had been nearly ten minutes. The parking lot was nearly empty by now.

I was still paralyzed in my spot.

Snowblind

Out of sight and out of mind

"Just *leave*," I muttered, finally ripping my gaze away from her and coughing out the rest in sobs. "Just *go home*, Daniela. You've already won."

"I haven't won **yet**," Daniela conceded, promptly adding a tight, "but I **will** soon. Your past *will* catch up to you, *Snowblind*."

With a snort and a flick of her black hair, she had turned away from me, and free from my glue trap, I limped back to the cabin.

Seconds turned into minutes, from minutes to hours, and hours to minutes, and minutes to seconds again.

Numb to everything. Black and white. Gray.

I fell to my knees in the middle of the cabin, and with a splintered heart and a bruised, bleeding body, I sobbed it all out.

I had truly lost *everything* in the blizzard. My dignity, my place as a human, my privacy at school, and my *peace*.

The trauma was rank, rotting in my brain. Back to stay and keep the rent.

The clock had reset.

I was demoted all the way back to *square one*.

I wished I was a small child. I wished not having to fear the world, but share a mutural, natural curiosity of it, venture into the unknown and map the locations I'd have yet to view.

I wished I could explore new lands, triumphantly making my mark and rewriting the words to my own story, much as I wasn't an author.

I wished my life had *color*, *every* color on the spectrum, and in the rainbow, and in *nature*. I wish I could *paint* the air as if I were a reincarnate of Bob Ross, *sing* and make every animal fawn over me like Snow White. Had a world where I was *appreciated*, *godly*, and *respected* to my name.

But as the days moved forward, refusing to stop, refusing to let me *breathe*, refusing to give me anything but *migraines*, *nightmares*, and *terrors* after Daniela doubled down and welcomed the Snowblind bullying wholeheartedly into her life, I found myself at *rock bottom*.

The *lowest point*. I hadn't returned to the murky blackness in a *long* time - not since I had fled home and had struggled to survive my initial days living solo.

I didn't go outside to interact with the melting snow, the aura of the woods ricocheting off me, my bubble, the walls I had let up, constructed of new brick. *Snowlight* hadn't resuscitated me, the song bogged down to the swamps by dullness and bare motivation in me to do anything. Music wasn't my cure. Or my therapy.

The woods didn't lull me into a lullaby. The woods didn't bend down and wrap their branches around me, telling me, "Oh, young one, you'll be alright. You are safe here." They were just *trees*. Animate objects that spoke nothing and only grew on their own time. I wasn't a part of their lives.

I didn't celebrate the ascension of the winter season, the clearest skies, the joy in Pineshadow. I didn't scout for the highest tree branches, and turned my back to the stars, because what *solace* did the stars bring besides... *being stars*? This was *reality*. Fantasies didn't shield you from *reality*. Reality was *dangerous*.

The truth was, I *wasn't* feeling *safe* in the Piney Woods. Not any longer.

How could I have faith in my own safety? I had tried to delude myself into thinking that Lars was only using bluffs and a formidable clique to spook me. I had denied that Daniela would stick to the belief that Lars had started targeting random people to one-up her. Stealing her thunder, as she put it.

But Daniela, as I realized with bitterness and gloominess, was correct yet again. Denial *only* got you so far.

I *hated* my new reality. I *hated* the mockery, the vitriol, the *toxic* environment and landfill PMS now was. What was once a semi-safe ground, a neutral territory where I could meet my issues eye-to-eye, was chock full of *waste*. A nuclear reactor of *villainy* and *condemnation*. No safe space in that school *wasn't* occupied by Lars, the clique, or Daniela. They owned *everything* and added *heaps* to their landfills.

Heaps of *hate*. *Wars*. *Desires* for *suffering*. Sadists went to that school, and Lars and Daniela spearheaded their movements, Daniela especially, as she crippled *everyone*, even those who were just as spiteful and wicked when using the Snowblind taunt, into *obeying her*. *Bending* to her indestructable metal will.

Meanwhile, I was the *victim*. The school's *doormat*, where they'd wipe their boots on me, stomp me into the floor, and shred my reputation into bits and bits until it was no more than mulch slipping through my fingers.

Nobody but Rex pitied me. Nobody but Rex cut in and made efforts to *stop* the bullying. *Block it*. *Rex* was the *only* person at PMS that ever properly heard me out, proposed solutions to me, and made my live *livable*.

Yet, what was even *livable* about my life now, when all of it was full of a million enemies wanting me to walk into their traps? Hang me by my ankles, beat me, and dissect my autonomy, ripping it out of my heart like an Aztec sacrifice?

Was there *anything* in Pineshadow *for me*? Should I just *move* somewhere else?

No. Dumb thought. I'd be caught if I tried to run again.

That left me dwelling on the *future*, and what was so bright was now so *dark*, *eclipsed* by *hours* of resentment and bellicose bullying, all from envy blown *way* too out of the water.

Every day at PMS, I was bullied. Morning, lunchtime, afternoon. *Nowhere* was safe... and it'd be *like this* for the rest of the year. Lars and the clique wouldn't change, or at most, just dip out of the limelight and act like they were heroes. Daniela was *full steam ahead* on crucifying me with the taunt; she said it in way that all but communicated she *loved this*.

She *loved* nicknames. Insults. It was one of the quickest ways to quench her thirst for pain.

Would the harassment *ever* stop? Would I ever find *peace* in this world again? Could I even *trust* the world after it *didn't* save me from this... this *despicable* reality, but had also given me *something* to live for? The world was so *sadistic*... and a young child like me should've known *better*. Any type of happiness I found was cheap, second-hand satire.

I laid in the cabin, fearing what could happen if the bullying *didn't* stop. Everyone would be *augmented*. *Charged* with *more* and *more* reasons to hate me. Believing Lars' lies about me. This was *defamation*, but I didn't have lawyers or legal counsel, and Rex could do minimal damage control - she also could not involve police for my sake, should things take a turn for the *violent*.

Hate, when *enraged* and given room to fester... becomes something *unimaginable*.

Would this bullying drive someone to *stalk me*? Or, at worse... at a *nauseating* worse...

...would someone actually send me *death threats*? Would people want me *dead* over a *name*? Over one man's *jealousy*?

*Is someone at PMS aspiring to kill me?*

*No*. That could *never* happen. No child, I thought then, could *remotely* have the smarts and the effort needed to commit a *murder*. People surely wouldn't want me *dead* over Lars *lying* about me, and his clique and Daniela amplifying that with demonstrations and skewed rants.

But I kept thinking about it, unable to help it, mind swirling, lost in the powdery white torrent of the mental blizzard asphyxiating me. I spent more nights sobbing myself to sleep, tears trickling down my skin, eyes sticky and bogged down. Fearing my life was *over*. Knowing my reputation was insalvable.

Waking up the next morning to accept torture like a champ. Like a masochist would accept pain.

Self-sabotage is a sweet romance.

Rex told me that she'd punished both Lars, the clique, and Daniela after catching them over cams and in the act. None learned their lesson, obviously, and while Lars (as I predicted) slunk back and let the ripple effects carry over, his clique by his side and carousing the aftertaste, an addicting drink, Daniela openly defied orders (now sporting well-crafted middle fingers) and took slashes at me with a vicious, "*Snowblind*!" whenever she got the chance to dig the wound deeper.

Dig it deeper, she did. I became numb to the name calling until I just *surrendered*.

I had no reason to trade blows. Argue. Wrestle. No method to this madness. No *clue* as to what life was, or what everything was.

I lost track of time for the *millionth time*. Why even bother? I was wasting it, I didn't care, I wouldn't care. It didn't matter when this life was hardly worth living, when this life was just *strife* and *endless agony*, surgery to remove my organs and close me back up, leaving me *deformed*. Some malformed creature with a bully's pet name.

I wouldn't care until it was my death day and I was on my deathbed, a heart too cold to break exhausting and stopping. I'd die a failure, wouldn't I? My story would apparently end, with me succeeding in becoming someone I could *never* hope to be?

November squeaked by, stampeding like a buffalo herd. Nothing new. Nothing changed. Snowblind there. Snowblind here. Snowblind to. Snowblind fro.

*Everything was Snowblind*. Me sobbing in school, breaking down, running away, refusing help. Hooked into bully traps. Pointed at. Spun on a carousel, round and round, until my head hit the concrete and I died inside of blunt force trauma.

Told to get lost. Crawl in a hole. Die in there. The world was so colorless and static-y. Somehow I was still passing my classes in this... *body*. It wasn't an achievement. Everything was tainted by *Snowblind*.

Snow blindness. Just being *Snowblind*. Lars and his clique never got worn out by the punishments and detentions, as detentions were just *motivation*. A driving force behind *hate*. Daniela was naturally driven by her vendetta against me and vowed to *never* stop until she could drop the gavel and have me for herself. She didn't want me dead, but she wanted my suffering, her frontmost goal. She'd won. Lars and the clique had won.

That was just my thinking for the rest of November, as the world grew darker, blacker, whiter, and colorless. I didn't want to remember November.

And then, it was December.

December was the *most wonderful time of the year*. Yeah. Rub it in my face and remind me of my pitiful existence, where I was *blinded* by snow and sneered at for just *existing*, to cry my eyes out, cope in my schoolwork, and drown in the Black Sea of taunts and the nothings that sucked the blood out of my veins.

December came bearing winter's truest gift, the snowfall. Snow fell, and the melt of the fall was succeeded by the *thundersnows* of winter. The snow piled up, shutting us in, but not on the school days.

I didn't care. Snow didn't mend the patchwork that was missing stitches and bleeding out actively. I *was* Snowblind, so why even step in it if it was only going to be a mirror image of what *everyone* thought I was? *That* entity?

That *everyone* was *festive*, *decorating* for the holidays, stringing up the gay apparel and stringy lights that dazzled the young, innocent, guillable children, baking grossly-covered sprinkle cookies, paying expensive bucks for the beef wellington and Cornish game hens to cook on the stove, wrapping presents for young ones, begging Santa to make them young gods.

Having a *real* reason to live life, be alive, and celebrate. Jingle bells all the way, silver bells hung on the mantle, kissing under the mistletoe. Mariah Carey worship for all of the month.

Showoffs. They had *lives*.

I didn't.

They had reasons to be festive and holly-jolly.

I didn't.

They had presents, Christmas dinners, Christmas stories, and Mariah Carey.

I didn't. And never would.

Fourteen days of December passed by, of me continuing to be a depressed sack of bones in class, listening to instructions and copying. Battered into my shell, cracked and insufficient shelter from the insults. I'd never escape it. The year was halfway done, and I *still had months of torment left to get through*.

January. February. March. April. May. Five months. Five months for Daniela and Lars and the clique to tear my flesh off, stone me, and bury the body. Hide the evidence and rule Pineshadow Middle School, while my life was wasted, taken from me and confiscated. I'd die a useless teenager who did nothing but *dream* ways out of her existence.

Why partake in Christmas festivities? Everyone else could have it. I didn't deserve the wreaths, holly, ivy, mistletoe, or some tree with presents. I didn't need to celebrate. There was nothing to celebrate in my life other than the fact I miraculously kept waking up alive.

I had no life.

Or at least, I didn't - not until my phone unexpectedly reminded me of a *sacred*, *special* date. A date I should have *never* forgotten, but let fall and get muddy in the snowy banks.

I'd given up on tracking the days, and it was a calm Thursday morning. I'd fallen asleep at one point, not knowing when, only knowing it was me believing my future was bleary and full of belittling leeches sucking the blood out of my skin.

I'd woken up to a *bzzzz*. *Bzzz*. *Bzzz*.

"Ru... fie?" I questioned, blinking awake and seeing the snow fall outside. Rufie was in a different state, and there was no possible way a *hummingbird* could have gotten into my cabin. Dumb me, dumb sleep thoughts. Welcome to the reality of your sad, pathetic life.

*Bzzz*.

Something vibrated across the cabin floor. With a shake of my head, I realized it was my phone. Jesus christ, why would anyone have the will to spam call me this early in the freaking morning?

"What..."

I crawled over to it, picking it up and swiping past my (unsurprisingly hummingbird themed) lockscreen.

*12/15/12 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!*

I *gasped*, my phone falling with a soft thud on the wooden floor.

Of *all* of the things I could have forgotten in these pits, these caverns, these *ravines* of depression...

...of all things I chose to *not* think about at all, barely able to cope with the mental stress and hate and enemies I couldn't battle...

I'd forgotten the *biggest* day of the year, even bigger than *Christmas* and the Mariah Carey infestation.

*My birthday*.

I was *thirteen* now. I was a *teenager*.

*Thirteen*. A remarkable milestone that once, I thought I'd *never reach*. My mind was parted with thoughts of dying young. Father murdering me. Daniela, the clique, or the other PMS students hunting for me in my home, *taking* my woods from me.

My speech. My freedom. My *everything*. Exiling me to foster care, where I'd forever be a rogue and outcasted for my beliefs and my appearance. Ostracized. *Never* treated as *normal*.

I lived thirteen years. I'd *fought* thirteen years, and I'd seen *so much*.

I'd seen the *best* - nature, interacting with it up-close and personal, seeing its blessing and feeling said blessing run through my veins, wild, free, and spiritual. Embracing being queer, loving women, their features, what made women so *special* and *unique*. Having proud parents to share the world with, moving forward with a mother's eternal love and a temper inherited from a father that was now abusive and callous. Meeting a girlfriend, a *soulmate*; even when I'd lost her, and even when the world was *against me*, forcing me to pick the fate I never wanted to choose, I found a *realm*.

A haven where I was *free* to *be myself*. *Express* myself. Live a life of passion, wonder, and *dreams*.

All of a sudden, I gained a *flash* of color. Just a *streak* that parted the black-and-white thinking, before it closed the gap and became dull again, but I was clutching my heart, and my phone.

*Memories*. *Good* memories. Those memories had weight, *consequence*, and thinking about them made me *think*...

For weeks, I'd been wrapped in a dome of inescapable death, with no remedy or cure to the bullying I had endured. The heartless remarks. The stone-toss quips. The daggers, knives, and fingers that would point at me, scorn me, and mock me. It shut me down, stripped me of my will and soul, and tossed me to *reality*. A reality I wanted to cancel out.

I didn't think about any memory but the *traumatic* ones. I forgot what had made me *special*. The days that *had* made me special. Special, strong, *magical*.

I couldn't balance out traumatic memories with *more trauma* and *current trauma*. That wasn't healthy... but my phone reminded me of something *great*. Something *terrific*!

My *birthday*. Being *thirteen* and *still alive*. It got me *thinking*...

There was *something* I could do to alleviate the stress and the blinding blizzards within me. *Something* that, until now, I had *never* developed courage to face *directly*.

Was this the day I flipped the script?

I trotted over to the very object I had given up on fiddling with since the *summer*.

I reached towards its silver etchings with new determination, tracing them, and, for a *moment*, a *single* moment, I saw *light* in the blizzard. The *snowstorm*, carved from the sooty, worn, trained hands of a blacksmith. One that bore magic and knew of the most arcane spells in all of the United States.

I *held* my box, but didn't lift up the latch, attempt to peer inside, take out the ten pillars that it held within. This was a *careful* decision I had to make, and make it *swiftly*.

Within that box, there were *memories*. *Most* were *sweet*. Full of *essence*, of *childhood youth and magic*. And some were lined with melancholy and bittersweetness, the outlines defined with *pain* and a *lasting influence*.

When I thought of those pictures, I thought back to my trauma. *All* of it with every *evocative detail*. The blood, gore, betrayal, death, threats, the running. Everything.

I didn't want to face my memories *because I never wanted to be reminded of my past*.

But memories were *more* than just echoes of something no longer present or bound for me! Why didn't I put two and two together *earlier*? Memories were meant to be *sweet* and meant to be *bitter*. Good and bad. Dark *and* light.

The world could not exist *without both factors*. I realized then that memories could *also* not exist without those features.

What was *sweet* and *holy* was balanced out by the *somber* and *darker*. Otherwise, what was the purpose of memories? To be the same? Life wasn't supposed to be *the same*. That wasn't a life *lived*. And, for a long time, *I lived to be alive*.

I had been analyzing the ten pictures all *wrong*. I wasn't looking *deeper*, *beyond* the meanings...

I'd taken no account of *how* I was *connected* to each and every one. Instead, I became overwhelmed by trauma, love, death, and distraction.

The memories in here wouldn't *always* link me to my trauma. Not every time. These memories would reflect a time when I was *happy*.

When life was *worth living*. To *remember* what made me *smile*.

There was still *happy* in this world. A *flicker* of a doused *fire*.

An art kit was left unused in a corner of the cabin, and I had to go to school and stop dawdling, but noticing that kit and turning to that box, I developed an individualistic, but *consequential* idea.

To say that I was *distracted* that day in school was *quite* a hefty understatement, as I found myself daydreaming of my plans in class and in the halls, in the process *deflecting* the name taunting, even outright *ignoring it*, for the first time. If Lars had observed, he didn't seem to have the incentive to attack me, and the clique followed suit, and Daniela *couldn't even get to me*, no matter how many times she swore under her breath that I'd rue this (this isn't *iCarly*, Daniela, nice try).

I missed some of my classwork and got light scoldings for dozing off or turning in review packets that were messily coompleted. The teachers nor the students didn't know of my plan or what I was going to do. They couldn't. They had their own business, focusing on work towards semester exams (oh right, those exist and WERE LITERALLY THE NEXT DAY) and getting their houses decked out for the family.

Oh, *they'd never know*. The weight of memories. Restoring color to a lifeless world. Winter had a plan, and she was going to go *through* with this plan, thread the needle, and sew the fragmented pieces back into *one*.

The bell ringing sounded sweeter than a shrill cry of a dying rat, and I sped out through the crowds in the direction of home.

Finally, I had *motivation*. I had *reason*! I had *life*! I was going to be seeing *color* again, know the sun, the snow, *everything*.

Once I arrived at the cabin, I slammed the door shut, locked it, and pulled out the untouched art set.

Pencils, pens, markers, and *more*. This was everything I needed. I was *ready*.

So slowly, as the sun progressed down for the day, little by little, I opened the box and pulled out all ten photos, glancing at their fronts and re-arranging them in chronological order.

The day of my birth. Sleeping in Mom's lap. A family Christmas. Going to synagogue for the first time. Lighting the menorah with style. The flowers beside Mom's grave. Father and Rye Lake. Varien inspiring me to cut my hair short. Seeing the stars the night Daniela asked me out. And lastly, the final time me and Daniela were *ever* truly happy together.

Tears sprang to my eyes. I brushed them away.

I wouldn't cry. Not now. I'd only cry when I'd stitched everything together and found *meaning* in my memories. *Restored* the color, restored a *light*, *some* of it, in my life.

This wouldn't fully heal me from the bullying and destruction across the past two months. I'd still be troubled and still be in a battle against the odds. But today, the healing would *begin*. These *shards* of me, these *fragments*, were going to be crafted into a *heart*. One that wasn't indestructable, but more *fortified*. One to put me on a path for *salvation* and save me from the hellish hands the year had dealt on me.

With the art set at hand, and with a mind suddenly a hive of creativity, I got to work.

I held the first photo, seeing me, back as a wee baby, a beautiful snowflake birthmark imprinted on my shoulder. A snowflake. A *light* in the middle of a *snowstorm*. A sweet melody I knew all too well filtered through my ears, resting with the sadness and uplifting fireflies I felt flickering deep inside.

Picking up a classic pencil, I wrote in neat handwriting on the back:

*Snowlight*

Varien deserved to be credited for this one. I may have never known of him until my later elementary years, but, a long time ago, I was the light in the blizzards. I held my breath, walking up, and up, and up, steady on through the city, on the low, and tripped up on the fine wire everyone ordered me to walk upon.

I *was* Snowlight before that. Someone else now.

Photo two was one of the two photos (three, if you count her posthumous appearance with a gravestone) that featured Mom - the brightest star in my life that appeared to me in my deepest, most meaningful dreams, holding a toddler me in her arms. I slept, maybe drooling a little, and faintly, I remembered how *eager* Father was to take this picture of me.

When Father loved me, thought of me as *adorable* and *precious*. Didn't he say all memories deserved to be cherished?

Even if those weren't his exact words, I agreed, marking down on the backside in blue colored pencil:

*Momma's little darling*

I called Mom "Momma" when I'd come home shaken from the disasterous family reunion, and Mom had soothed me, telling me that I was not to blame for nearly being served alcohol by my drunk Uncle Lewis. A memory that had stayed with me forever.

*I remember your lullaby, Mom,* I thought, wiping away more tears. I'd cry *soon*, but not now. I had to be strong. This was a necessary evil for me to confront, and with that resolve lashing its tail, I inspired myself to work *harder*.

The third photo was a photo I remembered fondly, of when we celebrated Christmas at Mom's insistence; Mom, who found fun in most holidays, made up our own Christmas, since Jews didn't celebrate the one Americans are head over heels for (do NOT talk to me about Mariah, let her freeze).

That Christmas, I took a small peek at my future tomboy nature by getting a Hot Wheels set, which Mom had adored fondly. Father was... *confused*, being Father, who expected Jewish women to be obedient and into girly things, when I thought that was a bunch of baloney.

This photo was worthy of something *more* than pencil, and so I wrote in fitting red ink:

*Merry Christmas, our sweet Winterlyn*

That Christmas was a merry one, indeed.

The fourth photo was regal, carrying eloquence and prestiege I hadn't touched in *years*. It was a *rather* odd photo for Father to take, but he preached that it was a requirement. Weirdly, I felt myself... *agree* with him. Agreeing with *Father*? The absurdity!

Because who would I be *without* religion and synagogue?

My Harmony Hollow memories resurfaced from under leaf piles. I remember how accepting and honest Rabbi Kealer was, our friends in Remi and Beasley being amazing, my relationship with Abigail coming and going, and how the whole synagogue erupted in approval over my outburst and eulogy for Mom.

I'd found *acceptance* in a place I soon recognized as a place I'd *never* conform to.

Did I once say rules aren't meant for everybody?

With confidence, I wrote with royal blue pen ink:

*To serve Him with prayer*

At the time, I was convinced that Yahweh protected us all from the stars. He was *God*, and we obeyed God, for he brought us all together and united us. There was also Abraham and Moses, too, but Yahweh was the bigger figure and had *far* greater importance.

Yahweh didn't exist, though. If there was a God, he wouldn't be strict and demanding. He wouldn't have expectations that Father would then twist and make me *coil* around. *Ugh*. God is Varien and always will be Varien, *undisputed*.

In a way, this was even more closure to the religious parts of me. I sighed, and the air around me became quaint... *homely*.

Photo five brought me a *strong*, *spunky* sense of familiarity, a lantern that burned within, as I turned it over and caught a bold, crafty nine-year-old me receiving Father's assistance in lighting the Hanukkah menorah.

Before that, I'd requested Mom shave half of my head, wanting to do away and break Father's rules. To think that it was *Rihanna* of all people that encouraged me to do this is *wild*, but Rihanna got away with a ton of *wild* stuff. Who said *I couldn't* as well?

Father's look when he saw my semi-shaved hairstyle was *priceless*. He was *pissed*. I loved every second of it, and Mom, if not stern, would have died from laughter that day.

I'd *never* obey his silly traditions. Therefore, I captioned photo five in golden pen ink:

*Happy Hanukkah, new me*

I couldn't deny that Hanukkah was still a holiday dear to me, and maybe, in time, I'd celebrate it again. While I may have disowned my Jewish heritage, there was something *in* Hanukkah that made me compelled to still celebrate it.

Those were the more *happier* memories. When the world was innocent, and there were pearls, charms, light, and *delight* everywhere. After this, we'd enter somber lands. The memories to reflect on, and memories that would bring *pain*. Pain that I'd neglected to face and let saddle on my back for *eons*.

Memories are complicated, containing damage but an alluring strength, a liberation of autonomy, that I could hold in the scarred, worn palms of my hands. I'd urge myself to continue, and so, I picked up photo six.

A gloomy, yet lasting day. A young me placing flowers by Mom's grave - Mom's favorite flowers, Pacific bleeding hearts. I was stone-faced, my emotions kept in their birdcage, but I knew full well the weight of losing my mother.

Losing Mom was difficult. Father and I were both sent down to what *felt* like hell. Emptiness. Depravity. Without Mom, *what were we*? What would we do? How would we live? In the end, we were *bound together*.

Mom implied to me that her time was near. I listened, even if I was breaking inside. Mom's last gift to me? The box. The box that *stored* these memories. Before that, the necklace that I always wore around my neck, the white diamond never losing its spark.

Mom *lived* in me. She'd always be with me. She'd *always* protect me. Fiercely loyal to the end.

I longed to visit her grave again, but it was consolation enough to see her in the skies, healthy, loving, and compassionate. I smiled, my eyes welling with tears I'd brush away in a second, as I wrote in starry purple ink:

*Hear, Smith of Heavens*

Varien's song tied into Mom's death perfectly. Mom was, in a way, the Smith of Heavens. She did pay me visits, although they were in my dreams and not real interactions. Mom *felt* perfectly real.

My prayers were *not* ghosts. They were *corporeal*.

The next photo, the seventh, had a wrinkled edge, likely from the night I fled with the box in my backpack, but that hardly mattered. The content on the front shone, *pure and beautiful*. A sunset of vivacious colors, a father and daughter, bonded by loss and something common sprouting from the seeds of amends, going to a place secluded, yet special.

Rye Lake was a place I only went to *once*, but I *felt* its energy, *heard* the calm lap of its waters against the shore. The picture being taken by a kindhearted stranger. Father and I snuggling there, blindly assuming we'd be forever.

Father had other motives. I swallowed a growl.

Remembering that *bad* also came with *good*, I gained a swipe of determination that allowed me to write in dark blue ink:

*Pieces of me*

Father and I were fragments, bobbing above the lake water as if we were the scattered ashes of a deceased loved one, and we came together to make sure Mom's legacy wasn't discarded, wasn't left in her coffin, or among the wrong hands. Father was a *piece* of me, and so was *Rye Lake*.

They were *pieces of me*. I beamed.

Photo number eight made me crack a smile of ebullience. Father, unknowingly snapping one of my finest, most iconic moments, unable to see the photo of the person - a *transgender* musician, mind you - influencing me to cut my hair to the length it sat at today. Me, meeting my mirror twin, and snipping off the last strands to complete my *outspoken*, full metal tomboy look.

That day, I'd achieved *pride*. *Acceptance*, with Father promising to *never* restrain me even if he held a strong dislike of my personal decisions. Whatever. I outshone him and always would - surviving his conniving try at murdering me was proof of that.

I couldn't hide my happiness as I scrawled, writing in blue ink and then framing the border of the eighth photo in red:

*He guided me and in return I thank him*

Varien was in my *debt*. As to how I'd repay him for giving me the impetus for breaking the barriers, figuring out I was gay, and allowing the tomboy in me to *shine* regardless of Father's skepticism, I'd never know, but all I could ever tell him was *thank you*, and *thank you* again.

I'd idolized him for half a decade, more than half. He was still *precious* to me, and always would be my idol, launching me into the outer space of an idyll.

Speaking of outer space, I picked up photo nine and felt myself surge with energy, surge with a *starry* familiarity. One of my most heavenly, star-studded memories, a mostly sweet, and partially bitter one, was in my worn hand.

I was gazing up at the stars on a dark, yet pretty night, taken away at the beauty and wonder of the sky. Behind me was Daniela, the photographer, who just thought I looked *nice* in the starlight.

*Nice* was discovered to be an underwhelming term. Daniela rectified this error by professing *her love of me*, in the grass, as we laid under the stars, and I'd accepted. Apples to our eyes. Cherries to our pies.

It made me feel longing, a stalactite piercing through my heart. A stab to make me aware of my surroundings, and thinking back to what was *good*. What was *light*.

What finding a soulmate had brought me in *love*. Unfiltered, wild, *electric* love.

A determined deftness took over my hand, and cradling the royal blue pen, I cast blue dots all over the margins of the photo, dots that blotched and were little shapes. Little *stars*.

Where the stars didn't obstruct, I wrote in swirling cursive:

*Come get me*

Daniela may have abandoned me, lost my affection, descended to insanity and evil, and yearned to inflict wretchedness on my battered, tired, scarred body. I may have been lost in the thrum and discord of the world, felt discarded and plucked at the by the hands of the Grim Reaper, but I knew that *the stars* would never leave me.

Mom said I was home among the stars, and when I needed them, they'd *come get me*.

*Come get me*, as I heard Veela sing that night. *Come get me*, and I'd be home, safe, in Mom's arms, resting against her blouse.

I was *blessed*.

And finally, I reached toward the last photo. The last photo I knew so damn well, it made my heart ache. My eyes, watering with tears, almost ready to fly the coop and sail down my cheeks.

*Not yet. Be strong,* I encouraged myself, sucking in a breath and sighing. I held the photo with two fingers, facing the memory I *feared* would bring me to my knees and cut *my roots* from the *source*. What I had feared to contact. What had steered me of course from the box and its contents.

Me and Daniela, in the Piney Woods, not long before sixth grade started. Smiling, close together, in the beauty and seraphic devotion of the Piney Woods. In Miyoki's words from *Kamisama*, the bittersweetness of a lie.

*Nothing* could break us. *Nothing* could ruin our summer tune. We'd ruined our friendship for something *special*. Something *real*. A relationship that we were *both committed* to.

We *had* the roses. We had each other's *hearts*.

However, we *lied to ourselves*, and a snowball on a hill rolled, becoming *bigger* and *bigger* until it *smashed* into me face-first, into my temple, into my *head*. Betrayal and life flashed before my eyes. So did death and love, leaking out of the vial that was a broken, shattered, irreparable heart.

Trigger-shy to the circumstances. Frozen in time and the pitfalls.

A bloodstained knife and the loss of a home was all it took for me to end things and make the unfortunate vow of death doing us part. But those things never did end, and death wouldn't do us part for not even a *year*, for my former flame had engaged in a *war* that continued to *burn*. A sickening Centralia fire she didn't want *extinguished*.

For as long as Daniela *breathed* and tended to that fire with her infinite supply of gasoline, kerosene, and anything flammable in her path, she would have *business* with me.

*Unfinished* business. *Loose* ends. We *were* done. She'd never understand that, wanting me to be the *choker*.

I wanted to be the *closer*. Nobody could come for me, but I'd mark the end of a saga of ignoring what made me *special*, ignoring the one part of me that *would* give me happiness no matter what was evoked and played verbatim from my heartstrings.

Fittingly, I got out all of my colored pencils and scribbled colored hearts - rainbow hearts - on the back of the tenth photo. Then, I wrote in black Sharpie, to seal the deal:

*The love of my life*

I will *never* deny that I loved somebody once, and that for a long time, a year, that love was *strong*. Powerful, sweeping me off my feet, making mornings feel magical, making evenings feel *elegant*, *charming*, *roaring* with life. A love that made me feel *human*. *Whole*.

A love that made me *ascend*. *Cry*. Open my heart to *anything*. Do the *unthinkable*. Have *pride*, regular and gay. *Embrace* who I was.

I hated Daniela, but I'd *never* hate Dani. Dani wouldn't ever come back, but she was the first person to *ever* take my heart and devour it. The first person to charm me with their spell. The first person to be candid with me and truly, truly, *truly* see me, and let me into Alice's wonderland.

Dani *was* the love of my life.

All of my ten photos were now *branded*, *decorated*, and *named*. They had *purpose*. Flourishing with tincture, fitting together with puzzle pieces.

From one to ten, each had a story to tell - and I was going to *retell* that story.

The sun was setting, and not a person would interrupt me on the quest I set out for next.

Packing up my memories in the box and closing the lid, I picked it up and headed out into the sunset air, taking care to lock the cabin door behind me. It was a habit I needed to keep better track of, no thanks to Daniela, Lars, and the clique. Stalking couldn't be *ruled* out, but I'd have reason to deliberate over that later.

Once I heard the lock click, I set out into the woods, my heart pushing me forward. Tonight, I had a story to *tell*, and just a *glimmer* to reignite the deeper meanings of the pillars - the pillars that were *monumental* to my composition.

I need another story

Something to get off my chest

My heart sprang out into a fast gallop, and a calm, slightly anxious walk went to a trot. My box, held firm in my hands, the silver markings taking an orange-pink sheen with the sunset.

Shifting to life, brimming with *magic* and *spells* and *ancient history* carved into it at Mom's instruction. Mom *knew* how much this box would mean to me.

My life gets kinda boring

Need something that I can confess

Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, still peeking out from behind the majestic mountains, I arrived at the clearing, once belonging jointly to both me and Dani, and sat down on a log, plucking out the first photo. *Snowlight*.

It would snow next week, but the grasses were empty, tinted with the sunset and swaying in the breeze. I had a ton on my mind in that moment, tons I *wouldn't* verbalize out loud, tons I *wanted* to cry out.

'Til all my sleeves are stained red

From all the truth that I've said

But they were in my throat, ready to release. They would release when it was time, and staring at the first photo, now was not their time to come out and sing.

I started to think about *Snowlight*, the photo and the song. The snowstorm, howling outside, beating down torrents of white across the Washington landscape. Me, a young, unwitting, plump baby, coming into the world for the very first time, pressed against the warm chest of my mother, gasping for air, while she grinned at me proudly, and Father was prancing around the hospital room in delight...

I began to see *it*. In the air, little lines, and then, those lines made something absolutely *shell-shocking* that I gasped in *amazement*.

Come by it honestly I swear

Thought you saw me wink, no

I've been on the brink, so

I saw the outline of *Mom*. Mom, and *Father*, and *baby me*. In the *hospital*. Smiling, so happy that a new soul, new McCormick blood, and a beautiful, perfect daughter, had been brought into the world.

Yahweh's blessing. *Nature's blessing*. I was *healthy*, not infected with Mom's lupus. I was a *miracle*. The *perfect baby*.

Tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

My ears were *stinging*. My eyes were *widening*. I couldn't *believe this*!

My imaginative spark had deserted me, crushed and multilated by all of the Snowblind bullying. Pushed into a neverending *tornado* of depression and gutting my sentimental virtues. But through my memories - which, for so long, I had turned my back to, out of trepidation, the *single belief* that my memories were now *shrouded in darkness* and would only make my scars *bleed* - *had brought me back to life*.

I'm sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

Clutching the first memory and seeing the vision of my birthdate to my rapidly-beating heart, I tucked it back among the box's other memories and plucked out the second photo - *Momma's little darling*.

I thought of Mom, holding me, a young toddler, idly in her arms. She was resting, and so was I, and Father was proud and a tall copy of the sun orbiting around the earth...

This time

Don't need another perfect lie

The mist swirled in *gorgeous* patterns, dots, circles, triangles, squares, and then, the outline of Mom and young me appeared. I was sleeping, grasping at invisible stars, perched comfortably. Mom looked at me, exhausted from her chronic illness, but *still* loving and joyous. One of the giddiest moments of her life.

And Father was there too, watching, with the Polaroid in hand. I missed that Polaroid, now catching dust in my old house-that-wasn't-a-home. That was behind me, but through this photo, this *snapshot*, this *breathtaking* visual... that memory and all of my others would *live on*.

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

I felt so *free*. The weight on my back, my shoulders, *gone*. It was like I never even *felt* the Snowblind bullying and its consequences, the salting of the exposed flesh on my arm, the defamation that *lashed* and *churned*, the vitriolic beatdowns and *taunts*. *Nothing* to me. Up in the air, caught in the evening breeze and swept *off*. Hey hey, *goodbye*.

Viewing the past this way *hurt*. It *ached*. But life wasn't over and wasn't just defined with cruelty. I could still find *happiness*, some *comfort*, in what I previously had. While I'd *never* get that back, not in a thousand years... it was a *relief*, an *enigma*, to see my secrets, my dearest treasures, come to *life* with just a touch and flare of the imagination.

My God, amazing how we got this far

It's like we're chasing all those stars

Who's driving shiny big black cars

I moved to photo three, *Merry Christmas, our sweet Winterlyn*. It didn't take long to see a red-and-green outlined version of my family in front of a beautifully-decorated Christmas tree, the star on top glowing bright, presents tucked under.

I was all laughter and smiles that day, swooning over my new Hot Wheels set and thanking Mom and Father for making everything so *merry*, shimmery like the tinsel around the house. My heart swelled just thinking of Mom's cooking, Father's pride, *our* family pride. Christmas was *our* tradition *only*.

And every day I see the news

All the problems that we could solve

A new idea swept over me, and picking up the box, I trotted off with it through the woods, stopping at the battle clearing to pull out photo four - *To serve Him with prayer*.

Kneeling on the ground, I pressed the photo to my chest and closed my eyes, recalling any Jewish hymm or saying that I could. When I blinked my eyes open again, I saw *all* of Harmony Hollow, from its pillars, stained glass, Stars of David, to Rabbi Kealer, to everyone in attendance with their Torahs. I was there, too, studying my own copy of the Torah with my name written in cursive blue.

And when a situation rises

Just write it into an album

Religion was something I *hated*, and I bore the scars of it; seeing in here *reinvigorated* that hatred and abandonment, that tart dissonance, but it also pointed out to me that *all* memories, even those I disliked heavily or found unfavorable given later events in my life, were to be *cherished*. Memories weren't just a part of us. They *made us*.

The wisps of photo four faded, and walking out of the battle clearing, I went to the huckleberry bushes for photo five. *Happy Hanukkah, new me*.

Send it straight to gold

But I don't really like my flow, no

Swiftly, fires formed, tiny lights on the edge of misty candlesticks, and an outline of Rihanna-haircut me was guided by Father. Each time my hand flickered onto the top of each candlestick, flames sprouted.

Lighting the *fires* that'd pave the way for more rebelliousness and Father's rising chagrin. Screw him. Rot in *hell*, you bastard.

So tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

My heart melted at the sight of the candlelight, matching perfectly with the setting sun. Night was falling, fast as a pronghorn's sprint across Yellowstone, and I still had five memories left to visualize. Five loops in the story left to *close*. I proceeded on to another part of the woods, one where the Pacific bleeding hearts used to grow.

Unfortunately, the harsh snows in October had killed them off, but they'd be back in the spring. I'd call upon their spirits, however, to aid me for photo six.

I'm sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

Crouching down, palms pressed to the pine needles, photo pressed between my hands, I prayed, *prayed* with the bleeding hearts, for Mom to come visit. To see an allusion of her, *any* trace of her, to know I was giving her and myself more vindication.

That we were free to mingle, despite separation between two worlds. I felt the gentlest breeze take me, but not the photo, planted on the ground.

This time

Don't need another perfect lie

I blinked, and there was Mom's grave, the plaque firmly etched in, and me planting the bleeding hearts in the freshly-shoveled dirt beside it. Resting there, with Mom's coffin.

Her spirit, far in the stars. She was healthier there, belonged there. I'd join her someday, and the breeze was an indicator that she was listening to me pursuing my memories. *Following* my heart, my *rhythm*. She was *proud*.

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

Suddenly, the gusts of open air made me turn, and I stumbled to my feet with the box and my photos, surprised at my position.

The trees were parting, and I could see mountains. The setting sun. Houses. A park.

*Pinelake Park*.

A *haunted* place, last I checked. A ghost of my past, there to stab me, *remind* me that this was the first place I ran to, sobbed at, after Father's attack and Daniela's betrayal. Since then, I hadn't returned.

Hadn't returned for safety. To avoid being seen. Avoiding being captured, tortured, and split in half, shipped off to foster care.

Ooh

The park was empty now, and I felt that *swell* in my heart. That *tug*. Would I cross the threshold and face my fears?

As the sun fully dipped behind the mountains, and as night fully cloaked Pineshadow, as well as me, I chose to *gallivant* out, chest puffed out in *defiance*.

Got no reason, got no shame

Got no family I can blame

I was back in Pinelake Park, touching the grounds I hadn't touched for over a *year*. Alone, and all to myself.

I sat down on the step, plucking out photo seven, *Pieces of me*. Were the pieces of me still here, at Pinelake Park, and were they meant to be *unburied*?

Just don't let me disappear

I'ma tell you everything

There was only one way to know, and so I shut my eyes, thinking back to after Mom died, when Father had taken me to Rye Lake, and we had stared out as the sunset faded to night. We were *together*. Pieces *connecting*. The wind picked up, but was gentle, playful against my cheeks. I opened my eyes.

And *finally*, I let the tears *fall*.

So tell me what you want to hear

Something that'll light those ears

Rye Lake, starry and wispy, spanned out across me, aligning near-perfectly with the rustling trees in the distance. Father and I sat by the lake, the water lapping at the shores, just as I remembered.

It was *perfect*. The perfect *fragment*. I sniffed, and just let myself cry, because I finally *deserved* to.

I'm sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

I was *capturing* the *essence* of my memories! What made them *special*! I had a *reason*, a *motivation*, an *incentive*, to *be happy*!

The Snowblind bullying *didn't matter* at the moment. Neither did the aftertaste or the toll it took on me, because I was rejoicing in a rediscovery of a *lifetime*.

This time

Don't need another perfect lie

*Memories* were my backbone, and they still brought *joy* and *merry* and *consolation* and *declaration*, even when overshadowed by the weight of the past. My past couldn't find me, still. There was *light* in the darkness. A *light* that made this blizzard part and stop, and all there was left was *clear skies*.

Clear skies, and a pathway to photo eight: *He guided me, and in return I thank him*.

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

It didn't even take willing a thought to make the memory elicit life, and I saw me, a reflection of me, cutting my hair, with the Varien photo carefully tacked off to the side. Shining brilliance before being taken in the wind.

And I didn't even have to even pick up a photo for the next one to get *Come get me*, the ninth photo.

So tell me what you want to hear

Something that'll light those ears

At this point, I didn't even need to lift photos to my chest to measure their weight, give them life, a heartbeat, when that heartbeat was in my head. My own heart. My *soul*.

I was *alive* again. Alive to witness the nebelous stars of the night sky, and me sitting on the porch, looking up and asking the stars to take me home, before Dani, soon to be my girlfriend, would interrupt, and we'd lay under the moonlight.

I'm sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

At last, I came to the tenth photo, *The love of my life*, and I poured my heart and soul into re-imagining the Piney Woods. It was made of stars, the skies around black, blue, purples, and pinks, a whole rainbow plethora, and under those trees, me and Dani.

We wouldn't kiss, or do any of the things lovers did, aside from taking a photo that bound us together. We were bound to break, and that made my heart ache, but I'd gotten *here*.

This time

Don't need another perfect lie

*Here*, where I could smile, have pride, have *faith* in myself, all on my *birthday*.

December 15th was the *most special day of the whole year*, and now, I had a *new* reason to *celebrate me*.

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

I wouldn't be escaping being called Snowblind. That was an unfortunate part of my fate, and a horrific one at that, but I'd *finally* gotten past the darkness of *my memories*, my ten photos, and tapped into their potential.

In it, I'd seen *everything*. The love, passion, and heartbreak. Memories were sad just as much as they were happy.

*Good*, just as much as they were *bad*.

*Light*, just as much as they were *dark*.

All my secrets away

When the last of the mist had evaporated, and I was back under a black sky full of stars and the moon, I tucked my photos neatly into the box, shut it tight, and walked back home, waving to Pinelake Park.

I'd broken my fears and now had more territory annexed to the woods. And I had a new plan to honor what had gotten me so far, what had been protected in my sanctum for so long, being set *free*.

Every day, I swore to myself, I'd pick a photo to honor, going in chronological order. I'd sit with that photo *somewhere*, a place where I could *think*, and *think* of those memories. Let them flood me. Let time slide by. Let the happiness *consume me*.

Not *all* was lost. Not *all* was drained from me. The memories as of late were ones I wanted to forget - but why should I *forget everything* when I had *ten spellbound memories*, each telling my *story*?

Safe to say, for the first time in months, I slept happy, dreaming of those memories, of a world I used to know, giving all of my secrets for the stars to keep.

All my secrets away

In weeks, Christmas came, and every street was decked out in tinsel, wreaths, inflatables, and reindeer food. Santa had come to visit the little children with jolly *ho ho hos*, and many were screaming over their new presents, playing around in the snow at Pinelake Park.

I watched. Oh, they'd have something I'd never-

Wait. Nope, this part of the story is inaccurate. Disregard that.

Rex and her friend gave me Christmas presents! It was mostly antiques, like figurines and shiny stones, such as a jade stone, that I could decorate the shelf around my box with.

I also got the offer of trying some Christmas food and drink, like eggnog (okay) and fruitcake (disturbing).

Christmas music blasted over the radios (I DON'T WANT YOUR INFATUATION WITH MARIAH CAREY), and lights of red, green, blue, and yellow lit up the streets upon nightfall, lighting the way for a festive season.

School dismissed for a two-week break, much for my relief, and I fled with extreme desperation, sinking into my cabin and relaxing. Peace away from Daniela and the Snowblind bullying for some time. It was much needed; although my memories had provided me much of a blocker against the embarrassment and nasty comments and jabs, I still felt the effects wear on me and cut into my skin. It hurt.

There wasn't much to my break besides getting beauty sleep and watching the New Years fireworks erupt in the sky from the branch of a fir tree-

Wait. This part of the story is *still* inaccurate. Sorry, sorry, but I needed the drama.

After Christmas, I was *content*. I had *presents* and some form of festivities through the gestures of Rex and her friend. I had *something* to celebrate, and plus, 2011 was nearly *over*. The most *chaotic*, *painstaking*, *blood-costing* year I'd ever lived in... was *done*.

*Almost* done. That was a *larger* victory. A *huge* victory. I'd come so *far*.

Hell, *far*. Rex shared her belief to me in our only argument that I had *died*. I was on the *brink* of *death*... and look at me *now*! A runaway young girl, *thirteen* and not quite the spitting image of the eleven-year-old who had sobbed and lived in fear of the world any longer, had found a way to *thrive*.

Be alive *again*.

I took this chance to celebrate by spending a day out in the powdery snow, *reliving Snowlight* and rolling in the cold, raptuous white banks. *Refreshed*. *Holy*. It was two days after the biggest, larger-than-life holiday of the year had ended, and I was idly cloud-spotting from my spot in the snow.

Dreaming of wacky things dreamers dreamed of.

Then I heard the *snap*. A *crunch*. Pine needle broken. A *twig broken*.

The warning siren for an *intruder*. *Something* was *here*. Defense mode *activated*.

I *sprung* to my feet, shoulders bulked, hackles up, knife drawn in a *milisecond*. *Danger*, *danger*, *danger*.

Where was the sound at? I angled my ears and tracked. Seems like the sound originated in the direction of the *clearing*.

*Snap*. There it was again!

The tracking became intensive, and I made the sound of my boots as light as *pawsteps*. I slunk *closer* and *closer*.

The dusted snow was *marred with footsteps*. *Human* footsteps!

*Threat number one*.

"Who's **there**?" I demanded, my voice ringing and echoing through the trees. I waited, paused, ducked behind a tree.

A minute passed. There was no sound, no *crunch*, no *anything*.

These footsteps, though? *Suspicious*. They were *huge* footsteps, *boot* steps... and yet had been crossed over with *more* steps?? Whoever in here was *backtracking*.

Like they had *regretted trespassing*. Good. The footsteps appeared to lead *away* from the clearing, towards Pinelake Park and the thick of the trees.

Did a kid just get *lost* in here? Likely. If this was any threat from the school, say Daniela or the clique, I'm very sure I would have been jumped and hauled off by the throat. I was standing here untouched.

I did the smart thing and walked away. This was one instance that led to no harm, no loss, no evasive maneuvers. One in a million, like Halle's comet. Not to happen again anytime soon.

And so, I rested snugly in my bed, letting the last days of 2011 slip on by, clock out, and then *midnight* dawned on *2012*.

2011 - one of the wildest years of my life - was *over*.

Finished. Another chapter in the books.

In came January, the first season of *2012* - and this January became *interesting*. More than interesting, it was a *trial*.

What would happen in this month would end up *changing my entire life forever*. But ah, I can't get ahead of myself, can I? Most of January's events will occur in the following chapter, so please stay awake and bear with me while I close this one in *uno momento*.

The first event of January, however, was a *minor scare* - a *prelude* into something far bigger than I could have imagined... stemming from something so *miniscule* in comparison.

A minor scare, you'd might think? As I'd later come to realize... it was no *coincidence* and exactly in line to what happened after *Christmas*. Connect the dots for yourself down the line, and the puzzle *clicks*.

It was a calm day, and honor bright to my promise, I had taken one of my memories out to *think* about it. In this case, it was *Come get me*, the ninth photo. I walked with it, shutting my eyes and allowing my heart to orienteer just for today.

It was a sunny afternoon, the sunlight glinting off the almost-fully melted January snows. The temperatures were oddly warming up, a rarity in Washington, but I bet my money on it that they'd fall just as swiftly again. Washington - don't be deceived, you're going to be *freezing* for a century. Pacific Northwest, baby!

I was thinking about the *stars*, the blues that streaked the *night sky*, broke up the black, *Veela's intergalatic melody*, Mom's starry form... putting together the wonderland, imagining that I was there *among them*.

It was daylight, but there were *stars* abound, and I was the hypnotique, the oracle, who spun *around them*. They spun around me. I had the solar system of *stars*, their soft glow willing me to *believe*. Ponder about the worlds *beyond us*.

Alan Watts once translated the philosophies of nature and matter. There was always more to be seen... but *what*? It was a perfect day to reflect on history... when I heard the *snap*.

A snap of a *twig*, or something large enough, and it wasn't *subtle*.

*Again*. For the second time in less than a *month*. *Danger*.

My dream snapped, cleaved like the ending of a fever. I heard another *snap*, and then I was on the *prowl*.

To whoever kept believing launching a territorial invasion of *my woods* was a *bright idea*... then you were going to meet a sharpened *knife* and plugging your ears, because this monster could *screech* bloody murder. Mhm, hear me *sing*.

I drew my knife, clicked the button, and scanned my surroundings.

Nothing. But those cracks were *very* unsettling. Was someone trying to find *something* here? *Me*?

Then, for a single moment, I thought a saw a *silhouette* behind a tree. A *strong* silhouette.

One with a *large*, *bulky* frame.

That was *not* a bystander, an average civilian. That was someone from *Pineshadow Middle School*.

That was a real *threat*. A *test* for me. Would I back down and let my rarities be taken from me? My new dignity? My memories? My *pride*?

*Hell no*! I could take this pain, *bite* on it. When strangers wanted to pillage my territory, I would *counter*.

Talking of the Axes, *do your thing*.

"*Show yourself*! I *know* you're *there*!"

Only the silhouette did *not* show themself. Clever, I must admit. They, like me, were *elusive*. Evading spots where the sun shined, *mooning* over spots that were *shrouded* and *dark*.

I saw it move with precise speed behind *another* tree. *Fast*.

Oh, we were gonna play hide and seek? Okay. Making sure my photo was tucked in my pocket, I advanced and saw the outline of footprints in the mud, turned towards the *school* and not the *park*.

If this was the same person as before, they had a knack for direction.

Whoever it was, *there was no time to dwell*.

I heard the *crunch* of footsteps on the pine needles. Now it was *behind me*. I turned, *snarling*... to find *nothing*.

"Damn you!" I cursed, eyes stuck to the footprints. They'd moved in a *circle*, a wide berth around me... and were now in the direction of *Pinelake Park*.

Closer to the park... *the cabin*.

*The cabin*.

Oh *CRUD*.

If that *bulky silhouette* was *tracking me*, *they'd get ahold of my box and everything else*.

*They were several steps ahead of me*.

There was no time to stop, think, and even *question the identity* of *who* this was. I didn't care that it could have been Daniela, or the clique, or *Lars*. Either way, *it was go time*.

My adrenaline *kicked*, and I ran, trusting my photo would stick to me. I heard no steps *behind me*, so whatever entity was there didn't bring backup - that ruled out the clique, but not the other two names that appeared in my head. I was *running hard*.

If Daniela got ahold of my cabin, she'd *shred* my integrity and my secrets and play *hardball* until she'd stuck the whole ball into my windpipe. And if *Lars* got ahold of my cabin, there was no *telling* what he would blabber to the clique and their friends next.

This was a two-way *danger train*. I had to intercept it before a year of hard work, concealing, and a waking dream met the same fate as the Berlin Wall.

That silhouette *could not get to the cabin before me*. I reached into my pockets, feeling for my knife, and my photo, and my-

*Oh no*. NO.

With a gasp, I realized that I didn't have *the cabin key* on me. The key that would *protect* my secrets.

*Shrimp! I left the door wide open! You buffoon, Winterlyn!*

The door was *open*. *Panic* seared me. *The box would be a free grab*. Daniela or Lars, I would be *screwed*. I could have started bleeding out running like this. That box could have not moved a *whisker*.

*It has to be still there!*

Nonetheless, despite the panic, the shaking ground, and the wail of *air sirens* in my ears, I reached home *fast*. Old habits weren't dying hard *enough*. I'd have to kill them *myself*.

To my *relief*, *however*... the cabin door had remained closed. There was no trail of footprints leading to the cabin but my own... no one had *arrived*. Whoever had intruded did not intend to stalk and pursue to my cabin.

It was *okay*. Frightening, and exhausting, but *okay*.

That unlocked door was giving me a *migraine*.

I panted under my breath, entering and locking the door with the key. *Safety*, I missed you, and *never* leave me again. I did a glance-over of my belongings.

I settled next to my box, thankfully undisturbed and shut closed. The rest of the cabin, *quaint*. A replica of hours before. I was relieved to find that *nothing* had been moved and that no one had *broken in*, causing me to inhale gasps of calmness.

*What a relief.*

My latest outing hadn't drawn danger to my lifestyle and my cabin - *yet* - and I still had the liberty of getting *lost* in my way of life, my way of living, no friends required.

Resting the end of my head on a shelf, I felt myself relaxing further and further, my heart rate gradually settling.

*Thank the heavens that I'm safe, and so are you, my beloved box.*

Safety was a *priority*, and a new year meant that I had to get my stuff together. Locking the door, being extra vigilant, and watching for *stalkers*. Investigating the unknown one step at a time.

I upped my game. Nothing would *penetrate me*, and I was out of *sight* and out of *mind forever*. All I wished for was for the school year to end *faster*, and for me to know *infinite peace*.

Starting with facing my memories was a start for a *better* school year. I had the strength for *that*. School was going to be torture... but maybe through the blindness, I could hold *some* light to give me *sight*.

Me, myself, and I. Forever solo I would be...

However, my destiny had a *different* idea in mind, and I never upped my game to its fullest potential.

I was still *guillable*, able to be *stabbed*. Another double threat was *looming*, and they were *unreal*.

Unanticipated company showed up to visit in my cabin, aiming to know *more* about me. Were they foes... or would I consider them *friends*?

And when I made my choice, their actions, combined with my own, *barreled me* towards a strident, ruthless collision course with *reality*.

Bullying is *devastating*. It's still hard to believe that one taunt alone can cause *decades* of denial, destruction, frustration, and hate to rise and simmer, boiling in the summer heat and never finished cooking until something's gotta give.

It doesn't take much to stoke the fires of bullying. One little word, one sentence. One action. One fatality. A spark to gasoline, and there's a whole world burning alive.

Reputations are ruined. Mental health goes to the shredder. And other actions too gruesome to name here can happen if the straw on the camel's back is broken.

There is no excuse for bullying, for any circumstance, for any *motive*. It is *inexcusable* and *sickening*. Full stop, if you're a *bully*, go off to freaking *hell*. You are a terrible person and a waste of our oxygen.

I do digress depending on your situation and if something else is involved (family issues come to mind).

The Snowblind bullying was *calamitous* to my entire life. It took a single throw, the sun, and snow to *blind me* and get me christened with a new nickname, one everyone took pleasure in taunting me with. It hid in every corner, in every shadow, jumped me, mugged me, and robbed me of everything I had.

Days were bleak. Too slow. Too agonizing, cooking me in a pressure cooker, and it kept getting worse and worse.

I was pushed to my breaking point. The point of just giving up and accepting my fate. Accepting that I was the school's clown and doormat. The new bullying subject. And Daniela's perfect little chew toy.

I thought I'd never escape the bullying, but luckily for me, I found hope in a place I'd refused to acknowledge for so long. When I tore the bandage off, let sunlight douse the bruised skin, I saw value in the other small things.

Memories run so deep. It's important to cherish them, as they could show you the way forward and let you advance. They shored me up when I was too tired to sleep, too tired from the bullying, and they allowed me to see their meaning.

Memories should never be forgotten. They build you up and build you down, and memories can be difficult as well, but difficult is all part of it. I'd never forget the ten that shaped me, and now that I emboldened their messages, I thought the future could be a little brighter.

Alas, everything's not what it appears to be in my life, and two girls wanted to best me at my own game. They were *double trouble*, and in my view, a *threat*. They were going to eliminate me, I thought. They were going to expose me, I thought.

But instead, they ended up changing the chemistry of my whole lifestyle.

Who were these spirits in my room? Friends or foes? Would I make the right choice in dealing with them?

I did make my choice... and I *didn't* regret it.

## Cast

* **Mae Whitman** as Winter
* **Eden Riegel** as Daniela
* **Clifford Chapin** as Lars
* **Zeno Robinson** as Hendrick
* **Karen Fukuhara** as Majken
* **Sally Amaki** as Desireé
* **Dee Bradley Baker** and **Kari Wahlgren** as additional voices
* **Kimberly Brooks** and **Matt Chapman** as additional voices
* **Nora Dunn** as Rex

## Songs

* Au5 (ft. Tasha Baxter) - *Snowblind* (snippet)
* Jonah Wei-Haas - *Snowblind* piano cover (ft. Aloma Steele)
* OneRepublic - *Secrets*
* Twenty One Pilots - *Jumpsuit* (snippet)

## Trivia

* The chapter is named after the 2014 Au5 song *Snowblind*, Winter's second theme and one of her most influential theme songs to date. *Snowblind* was the song notably responsible for the chapter's existence, and virtually everything in the chapter is inspired by *Snowblind*.
	+ A minor snippet of the original *Snowblind* appears as Winter flees from Lars and his clique, and a piano cover of the song by Jonah Wei-Haas is heard as she grapples with the bullying over the coming weeks.
* The chapter is dedicated to South African singer and songwriter Tasha Baxter, who has contributed immensely to Winter's character with her music and acknowledged Winter's existence.
* The Varien song Winter quotes in the beginning is *Valkyrie I: Bloodshed*.
* Twice in the chapter, Winter references the vivisections alluded to in the GHOST song *Honey I'm Home*.
* The character of Skylar was named after Skylar Linson, a student at Lewisville High School in Lewisville, Texas, who was murdered in the parking lot of a Raising Cane's in September 2023. Av, at the time, was in her junior year at LHS and was heartbroken by the murder; similar to Evelin and Sarah, she wanted to honor Skylar's memory in the best way she could.
* Daniela almost swears when Winter catches her yelling at someone (s\*it).
* When Winter forewarns of the events to come, she references the GHOST song *Reckless Battery Burns*.
* As Winter thinks about fooling everyone, she references the opening to *Shrek*.
* It is revealed that:
	+ Lars' clique is composed of himself, his now ex-girlfriend, Desireé, and his two friends, Hendrick and Majken. Desireé was the only member of the clique to sympathize with Winter and demand the clique stop bullying her for doing nothing wrong.
	+ The damage from the Snowblind bullying was so severe that Winter fell into a deep depression and believed it was eerily similar to being hazed. She also started to see things in black-and-white.
	+ Daniela originally did not suspect that Winter was the victim of the Snowblind bullying, thinking it was some other kid. She was also irritated by Lars and the clique, as she had assumed they were trying to steal her thunder.
	+ Winter was so mired in sadness and angst that she forgot her thirteenth birthday, and thinking of her memories spurred her to actually properly evaluate them. She gained an idea - decorating the back with captions. Winter realized that her memories were good as just as much as they were bad and accepted them without shame, vowing to hold them closer to her.
	+ Winter was worried someone was stalking her in the Piney Woods in January, suspicious of footprints and strange noises. However, she never found out who was stalking her, as days later, she'd encounter strangers who'd change her life forever (Evie and Mya).
		- This directly ties into the scene in *Prologue* where she runs away from something unknown, revealing that she was running from a suspected stalker.
* The confrontation between Winter and the clique was heavily inspired by the Conan Gray song *Greek God*.
* Most of Winter's depression was inspired by the Adam Lambert song *Ghost Town* and the Twenty One Pilots song *Choker*. Winter also quotes both songs once.
* During Winter's quest to embrace her memories, the OneRepublic song *Secrets* - one of her character themes - is heard in the background.
* When Winter complains about the intruder in her woods, she references the Dodie song *Monster*.
* Due to the ending scene of *Prologue* being retold, the same snippet of *Jumpsuit* heard in the background of it returns.