Fragments

Snowflake

"You are not a beautiful, unique snowflake. This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time."

Just as my hands once reached for bubbles, I cup my – longer, thinner - fingers into a cradle for the snowflakes that drift down around me.

Winter has always been my favourite time of year. Winter means woolly gloves and Christmas, ice skating and hot chocolate by the fire.

At least, it does in films. Mainly my winters are defined by rain instead of snow.

So when it does snow, you can’t blame me for being a little excited.

“It’s snowing!” I call to my parents.

“That’s lovely sweetie,” Mum replies, her eyes softened by her bemused smile.

“Come outside and play,” I tug her sleeve, and she exchanges a look with my dad.

“Maybe later,” She murmurs, rubbing a hand over her swollen stomach. I imagine Newbaby is impatient; she would want to come and see the snow too.

Seeing my expression, dad stands up and grabs his coat from where it hangs on the staircase.

“Lily!” He yells up the stairs, and a few minutes later my older sister appears. We’re not close like sisters in films I’ve seen, the ones who swap clothes and share secrets. The fact that we have a seven-year-age gap, me aged four and her aged eleven, adds to this.

She is also going through what my Dad calls an emo phase. All this seems to include is her playing loud music, and dying her carrot-coloured hair a jet black colour.

Mum hates her hair black, and says she’s too young to dye it. So now the temporary dye is running out, and she has large blocky chunks of red mixed in with the faded strands of black.

Right now she looks like an angry panda, her brown eyes – same as mine – surrounded by thick eyeliner.

“What do you want?” She yells. Lily only ever yells anymore, across the dinner table, down the stairs, at me, at mum.

“Come outside with us, it’s snowing!” Dad yells right back, but you can’t mistake the enthusiasm in his voice. He’s just a big kid really.

Lily’s having none of it. She scowls.

“Who cares? It’s freezing out there!” Dad just shrugs.

“Suit yourself,” he says, grabbing my scarf and winding it around my neck, an impressive feat since I’m jumping around in excitement.

We run out to the garden, and the cold air sneaks in through my loose coat cuffs and holed tights. Snow is everywhere, in my mouth, in my hair, welded to my fingers from the snowballs I make. I see a flash of red and black, and realise Lily has joined us.

She shoots me a smile, helping me pack the snowballs together tighter in order to be more effective ammunition against the common enemy - dad.

Within minutes we’re all caked in snow, and dad’s surrendered, lay face down on the snow covered floor.

“Daddy,” I prod his shoulder, and when he gives no response, poke him again harder. Suddenly he bolts upright, shocking me so that I leap backwards into Lily.

“Get off me squirt,” She says, gently pushing me away. Squealing I run back into the house, tracking the snow on my wellies into the carpet as I leap onto the couch.

“Take your boots off!” Mum cautions from the kitchen as Dad and Lily walk in.

As they take their shoes off I flick the TV channel to a cartoon. The fire’s on, and as mum offers me hot chocolate Lily scrunches next to me, make up washed off by melted snow, and I can almost kid myself I actually am in a film.