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First Snow of the Season
Dec. 28th, 2016 09:36 pmWinter and Joshua have a troubled relationship.
Crisp, cold air pricks the skin and practically invites busting out the flannel shirts and beanies. Year's end stands tall as a milestone, proof of another year he's made it. These are powerful things that Joshua loves about the season. They bring back so many fond memories of both family and friends. Of Christmases past and parties up at the family lodge on Blackwood Mountain.
The quiet that eats every other noise, devouring nature's sound until all that's left is a howling wind and your own thoughts is less agreeable. Josh's inner voices are too loud already and the quiet of winter does not help. For all the fond memories the season conjures it will be marred forever by the February two years ago when his sisters ran into the night of Blackwood Mountain and never returned. Every whisper of the wind could be Beth or Hannah's voice, asking why their big brother didn't save them.
There's a new terror that comes.
Shorter days mean longer nights, and night is when the Wendigo have power. Hunt. Feed. Hannah, little Hannah, had been one of them. The longer it takes for dawn to come gives the Wendigo more time to search, to hunt, to find people. Josh will never forget the milky eyes, gaunt misshapen horror of what was once a human body with its needle like teeth and razor sharp claws.
So of course it's past dusk when the first snow of the season comes down in the Nexus. Would it be wiser to hide away in bed with the covers drawn and drink until he blacked out? Like he'd done the night Beth And Hannah had--no. Joshua rolls down the sleeves of his flannel and zips up the puffy winter vest he likes to wear. It swishes in a high pitch whenever his sleeves brush against it while he digs out his thickest beanie and tugs it over his head. With hands in the pockets of his vest, Joshua walks outside and stares up at the snow.
It's the big wet flakes that are always on postcards. The couple of inches already on the ground are doing their job of eating up the sound all around him. He has never felt so alone as he is standing outside his front door staring up at the snow falling. It's crippling in its silent isolation that chokes the life from Joshua. Perhaps he cries. Perhaps it's just the snow melting against his face. But he stays out there for as long as he can stand it, green eyes watching the snow fall. Penance for not going after his sisters.
And hope, perhaps, that in this world between worlds he may hear their voices for real one day on the winter winds. Instead of only in his head.
Crisp, cold air pricks the skin and practically invites busting out the flannel shirts and beanies. Year's end stands tall as a milestone, proof of another year he's made it. These are powerful things that Joshua loves about the season. They bring back so many fond memories of both family and friends. Of Christmases past and parties up at the family lodge on Blackwood Mountain.
The quiet that eats every other noise, devouring nature's sound until all that's left is a howling wind and your own thoughts is less agreeable. Josh's inner voices are too loud already and the quiet of winter does not help. For all the fond memories the season conjures it will be marred forever by the February two years ago when his sisters ran into the night of Blackwood Mountain and never returned. Every whisper of the wind could be Beth or Hannah's voice, asking why their big brother didn't save them.
There's a new terror that comes.
Shorter days mean longer nights, and night is when the Wendigo have power. Hunt. Feed. Hannah, little Hannah, had been one of them. The longer it takes for dawn to come gives the Wendigo more time to search, to hunt, to find people. Josh will never forget the milky eyes, gaunt misshapen horror of what was once a human body with its needle like teeth and razor sharp claws.
So of course it's past dusk when the first snow of the season comes down in the Nexus. Would it be wiser to hide away in bed with the covers drawn and drink until he blacked out? Like he'd done the night Beth And Hannah had--no. Joshua rolls down the sleeves of his flannel and zips up the puffy winter vest he likes to wear. It swishes in a high pitch whenever his sleeves brush against it while he digs out his thickest beanie and tugs it over his head. With hands in the pockets of his vest, Joshua walks outside and stares up at the snow.
It's the big wet flakes that are always on postcards. The couple of inches already on the ground are doing their job of eating up the sound all around him. He has never felt so alone as he is standing outside his front door staring up at the snow falling. It's crippling in its silent isolation that chokes the life from Joshua. Perhaps he cries. Perhaps it's just the snow melting against his face. But he stays out there for as long as he can stand it, green eyes watching the snow fall. Penance for not going after his sisters.
And hope, perhaps, that in this world between worlds he may hear their voices for real one day on the winter winds. Instead of only in his head.
