Downpour

FLOWERING WINTER

He almost doesn't wake up.

As soon as he opens his eyes, they close again. They're too heavy, and he's too tired to try and keep them open.

He's so tired.

He just wants to go home. He just wants to get into his bed and sleep away everything that's happened.

He wants to hide under his covers and forget the world.

He even wants to see his parents. The thought scares him, he hasn't spoken to his parents for over two years. But he's so tired of feeling lonely, of feeling like he's the only person in this whole goddamn world.

He wants to be held.

Something brushes against his cheeks, but he can't move his arms to get it off. They feel like lead, stuck to his sides and too heavy to move.

He's so tired.

Why can't he just sleep?

He's sick of dreaming. He just wants to slide into a dreamless sleep and never wake up.

Something else brushes his cheek, and he frowns. He's too warm and sleepy to move, but it's incredibly annoying. His fingers twitch, debating whether to push whatever it is away. His arms are so heavy, he doesn't even want to attempt to lift them.

But he can't rest. There's something urging him to get up, to push away whatever's brushing his cheek and find out what's happening. It's the same feeling that tells he doesn't want to sleep, the fighter inside of him that doesn't want him to give up.

His eyelids flutter in annoyance. He can't quite work up the energy to open them, but he can't get back to sleep with his cheek being touched by something.

His mind is at war with itself for what seems like hours. Every thought seems to take years to think, his mind incredibly sluggish. But the fire inside of him doesn't want to wait.

He opens his eyes.

Even that small movement takes so much energy. He's so tired, so so tired, but he can't go to sleep.

Not just yet.

He's lying in a field of snow.

The land as far as the eye can see is white. Covered in ice and snow, completely frozen over. The trees are completely leafless, stretching out their bare branches like crooked fingers. The snow around him is untouched, a white blanket that's muffling all sound. Even the blue sky above him is watered down, the light blue weak and faint.

The entire world is painted in shades of white, black and blue. A watered down masterpiece.

It's beautiful.

And yet, as he pushes himself off the ground, sitting up, his legs scream in pain. Snowflakes cascade off of his cheeks. He can't feels his fingers and toes.

As he looks down, his skin is tinged blue, paler than he's ever seen it before.

He can see his veins like intricate spiderwebs stretching across his arms, a deep colour that he can't look away from. His palms are almost white, barely distinguishable from the snow that surrounds him.

Slowly, he raises one hand to his forehead and winces. His head feels full of wool, his mind unable to work properly. He's so tired, and even as his fingers come back with blood on them, he can't bring himself to panic.

The snow is so soft.

So comfortable, like a warm mattress beneath him. He could bury himself in it, piling it over his body and then he wouldn't be cold any more. He'd be warm, and he could just go back to sleep. It would be so easy just to close his eyes...