Snow At The Gemini Hotel

I

Martha Carlson sat in her deck chair, sipping gin from the balcony while a falling sun crashed behind the mountains that surrounded the Gemini hotel. Her tangled curls, the only thing darker than her mind as they levitated in the foreign air of Serendipity Forest.

Behind her, there they were. Her daughter, Shelby, sat at the dinner table reading while her husband, Max, slept on the couch. They were okay. Paradise once elusive was now within grasp. It was so close. Reaching for it after a lifetime of hesitation, a snowflake intercepted, ushering in the era of midnight sun as the rise of regal-red sheets were overshadowed by the purity of frozen water. What a sight it was. Reclined outdoors, ice on skin had never felt so welcoming on a drunken body than now. It was magical. Never before had she seen the sun dodge the horizon to shine in the night sky, but she was familiar with the snow. They shared a connection she chose to discard. It rekindled memories, some good and some traumatising.

She recalled being scared the first time she saw a white lawn. It was pretty from the surface but hid many sharp objects underneath. Objects she was far too familiar with. In many ways, it reminded her of her father; soft on the outside, but cold, and infested with broken beer bottles inside. The sight of mother cradling her wounds after countless missteps was still engraved into her mind.

"Don't cry, baby," she would say.

"Daddy didn't mean to hurt you, it was an accident." She claimed time and time again, crouched over the blood bucket, plucking glass from her body.

It was something that would happen more often than not, bringing to light the question of how many times it had to happen before it became intentional.

"In life we must experience the worst of pains before reaching paradise," mother said.

"There is no peace above or fire below. Heaven and hell reside among us, my child. It's up to us to decide how we live."

How cliché. When she wasn't stealing catchphrases, her mother would constantly apply her mediaeval morals unknowingly making the pain much worse with guilt. If she was alive today, it wouldn't be any different. She could hear it now. Rants about her addiction and poor life choices that helped insomnia take over. That was just her life. No matter what she did, everyone wronged her.

It was getting cold now.

Banished in self-pity, swearing off rum did no good when it was the only thing keeping her warm. Getting drunk was inevitable. It was impossible to be sober and deal with what she was dealing with. The pressure of pleasing everyone was too damaging. Sometimes she wondered what life would've been like had she not become a mother, had she not wed at such a young age, had she not shortened her lifespan with poor choices and treasured what she once had; her youth.

This vacation was supposed to be something special, a retreat from her life problems. But instead her demons came along for the ride, they made her lash out at her family, made her do something she didn't want to.

Watching on as breath—now gone like the happiness that left her body ages ago—became smoke, her wrinkled eyelids felt heavier every second that went by. That's when she saw him. A man of dust, a shadowy blizzard, a figment of her imagination that came to her in a time of need, spoke to her.

Aren't you cold, Martha? He asked so softly, so gentle.

Aren't you tired? Aren't you tired of it all? Take my hand, Martha. Let me in, I can fix it. I can cure this sick world if you just take my hand, Martha.

She had had enough. She was tired of always fighting. Always standing her ground.

Giving in to the sandman, he danced around and doused her in a blanket of snow, extinguishing the fire within. Once the rage died out, melatonin began festering inside as her skin turned blue and her fingertips went numb. She had jammed the patio door from the outside so they couldn't stop her from dying. It was the best thing she could do for them. A perfect Christmas present wrapped not under the tree in their hotel room, but waiting for them the next morning, something to appreciate once she was gone.

Pondering what dawn would bring, her eyes unknowingly witnessed the transition from night to day as the sun's rays barely crossed the rigid mountains. It was cold, but she had no regrets for she was now at the mercy of her mind.