Veridis Quo

Chapter 19 - The Good Life

I loved snow.

Before my family moved states the first time, I remembered a singular time I experienced the magic of the coldest season. It was a week and some before Christmas, the tree was set but undecorated, the local confectionaries were ahead of the curve, a whole turkey in the freezer. More of the memory resurfaced. I was sitting on the couch, in the middle of watching a cartoon when I noticed a sparkle wink in the television. I thought it was an effect of the show, but the third twinkle had me in a loop. That was when I turned around and...

Taking a sip of the mug, I sighed content, an adorable pom pom atop my beanie. Some might call it gay but I liked the design, it also kept the snow from piling on my head. Gazing out of the window to the dormitories' backyard, the tall overgrown fence became an uneven wall of white, the fluffy ice sprinkling with the wind.

It was just like that, I reminisced with a warm smile. After I'd bugged my mother for half an hour, she made me a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and those tiny marshmallows, the ones that stuck to the teeth. Although the dorm's kitchen didn't have the extra toppings, the cocoa powder and near-expired milk was more than I could ask for. I would have also liked to heat said milk in a pot but it'd take too much of my time. And I didn't want to clean up such a mess.

Blowing softly on the dark surface, I sipped some more, the sweetness dancing down my throat. The strange looks I got for microwaving a cup of milk were priceless, but if the method was unorthodox and effective, they carried on in the army. The webby layer was gross, good thing I noticed it before mixing the crushed powder; three parts brown sugar, one cocoa.

„Man..." I drank, the toasty liquid lukewarm.

Perhaps there were other years it'd snowed, but in the south? As rare as a liberal. Except that state. No one liked that state. It didn't exist anymore, so all was good in the world.

Neither did the rest.

And there went my indulgence. I held the cup with both hands, the heat soothing the thin bones, my face reflecting in the wavering mirror. The smile remained, however somber. An icy fungus had formed on the window, manipulating light in spectacular ways. If I looked hard enough, I found symmetry in the alien symbols. That was human; to find patterns in mud, faces in the inanimate. I just couldn't look them in the eyes anymore.

I gripped the mug harder, my expression forced blank. After all this time, why did it still hurt? The past can't be changed, the future is always altered, the present is a constant gamble. So, why do I cry on the coldest nights? Three days ago, the heater broke, so I'd slept under several blankets, shielded against the cruel world. On my own, in a locked room, afraid of the dark, awaiting a mother's... kiss...

I choked a sob, the distant memory as hot as fresh iron. I knew they were gone. There was no bargain against fact. One day, I will go too. No, that wasn't the problem. Not even the bizarre circumstances of my everyday life. It wasn't the loneliness nibbling away, nor the mask I chose around everybody outside my circle.

Sucking a breath in, I steeled myself, moving towards the sink. Once at the counter, I emptied the semi-solids at the bottom and began washing the cup and a spoon. The water was near freezing, my hand changing from peach pink to an embarrassed tomato, like a chameleon. However, I didn't flinch. To wait for the water to warm would be a waste of resources, even if I didn't pay the bill. And the pain from a little frostbite was leagues below the passage of time.

I was forgetting them.

Finishing with the spoon, I placed it on a rack to dry off, the ceramic cup was next. My mother's hair was blonde, yes. She was shorter than my father, indeed. He had hair, shaten, light brown all the same, yes? And he...