Snowfall

© Samurai 2020, all rights reserved.

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I look out the window, and the whole world seems peaceful, blanketed in pure white snow. More of it falls from the sky, coming down slowly, gently, serenely, calming the land and all its calamities. The sky is grey, covered with smooth clouds that look like fine silk, and a gentle wind whispers against the glass of the window.

It all looks so calm.

I turn away from the window, drawing the curtain across it, and sigh deeply, looking into the embers of the small fire that crackles in the fireplace. It warms the little house, protecting my family from the prying cold of winter, but when I look at it, I don't see a protector.

I see a killer.

The fire that killed my brothers was the god of fires, a massive, titanic inferno that could come from nowhere else but the bowels of hell. It had ravaged the battlefield, scorching its path of destruction through the forest and choking the lakes and rivers with soot and cinders. It showed no mercy for any creature, and my brothers were no exception.

We were not brothers by blood, but they were more family to me than anyone else had ever been. We had grown up together, trained together, fought together. I never believed in what we were fighting for, but they made it worth the tears and the blood and the pain. I never cared about our king or queen, but I did care about my brothers, and in every battle, that was who I was really risking my life for.

They meant everything to me, and the fire ripped them away.

Nothing could extinguish that fire - even the mightiest of seas would have dried right up, defeated by its flames and hellish heat. It roared smoke into the heavens, staining the sky black and making the world smell of the devil's breath. It laughed when it killed my brothers.

That laugh haunts me to this day, and it's all I can hear when the small fire in the fireplace crackles.

I look away from it and leave the room, and away from the fireplace, the house is silent. My family is still sound asleep, for it is early on a weekend - they will not be rising any time soon. I remember when I could sleep like that, so peacefully, so serenely, like falling snow...

Those days are long gone.

I blame the fire.

I come to the front door, and I open it with a soft creak that pierces the house's tranquil silence like a cruel spear. It closes behind me, leaving me out in the snow, and the flakes settle gently onto my shoulders. The winter day caresses me, whispers to me, and it welcomes me into the snowfall.

It is cold. Very cold. The longer I'm out here, the colder I become, and not just in a physical sense. I can feel the snow numbing me, frigidly calming me, tearing away all feeling and grief with icy fingers. The fear of the fire is gone. The hatred for it is gone. The grief for my brothers is gone. All that remains is the cold and the snow that continues to fall.