Snow

     It had snowed. The ground was covered in pure white, untouched by humans. The snow always comes, not caring what plans it ruins. Some greet it like an old friend. They relax as their fingers grow numb and the air burns their cheeks. I had forgotten how to enjoy it. I used to be one of those people, who grew restless on autumn nights. Craving the snow used to be all I could do for hours on end. I loved the glow it had as it reflected the lights of the setting sun. But then that all changed.

     It was no longer something I liked or could even tolerate. I missed the days when I could relax in the wet, cold powder that surrounded my house. Now I could no longer rest peacefully in the warmth of the fire on these cold nights. The snow changed my life about two years ago.

     I had been resting in my overstuffed chair. It was a normal night. The fire was crackling and dinner was in the oven. My wife had gone out to get groceries. She never returned. Everyone was out looking for her. We had barely found some car tracks when white little flurries started pouring out of the heavens. The evidence was lost and my wife was never found.

     On a cold winter night I was alone. I'm still alone. The snow drives me crazy. It forces me inside. And all I can think about is my beautiful wife. After it snows, it never wants to melt. I have to wait months until I can forget once more, only to be reminded again in a few short months. The snow makes me feel incomplete. And worse, utterly alone.

Winter by Leonid Afremov