The First Snow [One Shot]

The Beauty of a Snowflake

The glistening white flakes of snow float down for the first time this year. The beauty and the majesty of it all almost made me forget. Almost.

The white-glittering cold, icy stars fell onto my face, melting into cold dots of liquid. And for the first time that year, I cracked a smile. Those tiny icy crystals did the impossible by removing the permanent scowl that had etched itself on my face since a day ago, when I bombed my last exam. 

Since a year ago, when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. 

And a month ago, when she died of it.

I felt the first snow change me. It made me remember the beauty of life and that's what I've always liked about winter. Winter is cold. Icy. Barren. Nothing grows in the winter; everything sleeps. There's a hidden beauty about it like an untouched castle overtaken by vines, and overgrown with ragweeds. It's chaotic. Messy. I fucking loved it.

You know under all that ice it's hiding something, preserving the clues of what lies beneath, but on the surface, it's beautiful like the pristine waters of the sea. Who knows what nefarious creatures of the deep lurk beneath its depths?

I never liked the overrated thrills the sun provided in summer. Beaches and long boring panoramas of a picturesque 'paradise' that few ever get to experience. You know what I'm talking about, the type that show butterflies dancing about merrily through a meadow of daisies and lush green leaves. Of never-ending shores and ocean waves. That type of beauty bores me. Too obvious.

I like the type of beauty you have to look for. Something you must find to see. Then again, I never much cared for butterflies or beauty. I like mystery; intrigue. I like dark foreboding majesty that. Is. Winter.

Every time winter rolls around, I see beauty.

Beauty like a snowflake is captivating, yet fleeting. My mother taught me that.

As a child, I was so enamoured by the beauty of a snowflake that I tried to preserve it and protect it from the brutality of the world. Tried to keep the inevitable from happening, so I could look at it forever. So I carried it inside and stuck it in the freezer. I'm sure everyone has done this at least once in their lives.

I checked it every hour on the hour just to see my treasure, but the heat of my fingers melted it bit by bit. Until one day I checked, and it was gone. Too small to see with the naked eye as it blended in with the shapeless frost of the freezer. Disappeared without a trace like it never even existed in the first place.

Just like our looks.

Just like everything else in our lives, its beauty fades away. It eludes us. We remember it when it's gone, but don't appreciate it enough when it's there. Winter is a cruel but honest beast.

That was the day I learnt no matter how desperately you try to preserve beauty, it will always slip through your fingertips, disappearing as quickly as it came just like the first snow. Just like everything else in our lives. But us humans, we try to retain it; our beauty, our youth, our vigour, even if our efforts prove fruitless.

You can't escape the devastation; the crushing hand of time. When I was younger my mother used to always chastise me for frowning or wiggling my eyebrows. She'd tell me, 'that's how you get wrinkles.'

I never listened.

As a child, I didn't care about wrinkles and I didn't understand beauty. Why should I live my life emotionless? A robot scared of my own facial expressions to preserve something that is already escaping me? Unlike my mother, beauty to me was a pointless endeavour.

Before she died, I saw the changes. Not in me, but in her. Even before the cancer my mother had a drawer full of makeup promising to tighten, to 're-wind time', and 'anti-age' –if there were such a thing.

After the cancer, she'd walk around the house with avocado smeared all over her face and purchased pre-cancer wigs in anticipation. Always fiddling with her makeup; her lipstick, her lashes through every chemo. Even my Aunt has gone under anesthesia to tighten and pull taunt her features.

Whatever happened to ageing gracefully? Dying gracefully?

Then she died. Her last words to me were: 'match my nails to my lips.'

She left us strict instructions to use the cherry pink lipstick and the curly blonde wig for her open casket. My father wasn't to go near her makeup that was my job.

And one day, after she'd died, I looked in the mirror to see what all the fuss was about.

***

"Am I pretty?" I asked Sam, my best friend of ten years during lunch one day. She looked conflicted, confused. You would think she'd be used to my irrational line of thoughts by now.

"Yes?"

"Are you answering me or asking a question?" I challenged. She looked nervous, but I pressed on, I had long lost the patience to coddle her. She was the anxious type. The type that would look bashfully away if you dare smile in their direction. She has always been like that ever since we were kids, I thought high school would change her and she'd grow a backbone. She didn't.

"On a scale of one-to-ten. Ten being the best, what am I?"

"Seven?" she replied uncertainly.

"Wow, don't sound so confident." She gives me an apologetic look, I shrugged.

"Whatevs, I like seven. Seven's good."

I said that then, but I was really thinking; how long would seven last?

In 20 years time, I might go down the same path as my Aunt. As my mother. Leaving primping and preening instructions for others to carry out in case of my passing. I might do the same because although preserving youth and beauty is as feeble as catching rain with your hands, or stopping time altogether, it's only human nature to try. 

So I will try. After all, I'm only human. I will make my mother proud for once, I will try to preserve the snow. Preserve it so I can see the beauty of the snowflake once more. To desperately recapture the lost majesty of the first snow.

***Thanks for reading, like it? Show support, vote up!  Written for a contest. I hope I did snow justice considering I've never seen snow EVER in my entire life. Sad, I know. From what I hear it's cold. One day...one day... do you want to build a snowman?

  © 2015 Purple Unicorn