Let It Snow
The old woman pulled her dusty pink shawl tighter around her shoulders, blocking out the cold. Her withered hands trembled slightly as she pushed her gold-rimmed spectacles farther up her nose. Coughing violently into her fist, she ventured on, inch-deep footprints trailing behind her in the snow.
She had just stepped out of the home of her brother, Kevin. It was Christmas Eve tonight, and like every other year she had been invited to his home to visit her grandchildren. She had offered them pudding, presents and other treats, before setting off once again to an empty house.
Up the street she went, the snow crunching beneath her heavy boots. Her grey, slightly frazzled hair blew around her face and into her eyes, the cold stinging her as she trudged on, a determined soldier. She thought of going back, back to a warm fire, the laughter of children, the smell of cakes and pies. That's how everyone else would be spending their Christmas. All but one person…
Upon reaching the top of the street, she looked ahead: There, standing proudly before her were a pair of magnificent wrought-iron gates. They loomed over the quaint, technicolour street, breaking the monotony of perfect and prim houses, surrounded by picket fences and the like.
Should I or shouldn't I? Her heart raced in a battle to overrule her sense of doubt. Hesitantly, her fingers brushed against the cold of the metal, chilling her to the bone. She gasped, air coming out in a puff of icy mist. Gathering her courage, she heaved the gate open with all her strength her brittle, slight frame could muster.
-And was met with the most spectatcular scene she'd ever laid eyes on. Topiaries –at least twenty of them- graced the lush grassy lawn. The woman gazed in awe and wonder at the beautiful flowers that grew along with them, all in reds and pinks and yellows. Majestic, towering topiaries like leafy statues: of dinosaurs, giraffes, and even a hand.
The hand was perhaps what caught her attention the most. Even scanning the rest of the garden that seemingly stretched on forever, she felt her gaze being drawn back to the solitary palm in the middle of it all, outstretched and grasping. Grasping for what? She felt her heart wrench –the woman did not want to know.
Hobbling up the stone steps, she hitched up her skirt so as to not tread on it. The heavy oak door at the top opened of its own accord, as if it had been expecting her. Without sparing a thought, she stepped in side. Through the dark and gloom she could still make out every shape, every corner, recognising them all as though they were all from some strange repetitious dream.
She felt stronger now, and hurried as she made her way up yet another flight of stairs. She knew exactly where to find him. Excitement bubbled in her stomach and for once, her body felt young again. As she stepped onto the landing, she could see the moonlight streaming down from above and pooling onto the floorboards. It looked as though the sky had been ripped open, revealing pure, white light. Her eyes scanned the room, resting almost lazily upon a tall figure in the corner, and her heart stopped.
"Can I help you?" Spoke the figure amongst the shadows, silhouette emerging slightly from the dim light.
"Edward," the old woman rasped. The figure stilled at the mention of his name, but the woman wondered if it had ever moved at all.
He shuffled stiffly towards her, zombie-like. Now, in the centre of the room stood the ever-elusive Edward, hair a tangled and unkempt mess, large scissorblades glinting menacingly. His face was clueless, however, as to who the stranger was. His eyes stared blankly at the woman, black little pout un-moving.
The woman's eyes glazed over, and she rushed forward. She knew Edward wouldn't recognise her, perhaps not even remember her at all. After all, it had been so long and she had not aged gracefully. Edward, on the otherhand, had remained unchanged. She ran one wrinkly, freckeld finger across his scars, and Edward blinked, slightly uncomfortable.
"You don't know who I am, do you?" The old woman inquired. Edward's chin twitched to one side in a pathetic attempt to shake his head.
She smiled sadly: "Hold me, and you will."
Edward's sunken, ebony eyes searched hers, and he drew back suddenly.
"Kim?" He asked apprehensively.
The old woman, Kim, pursed her lips so as to not let her quiet sobbing escape. She nodded fervently.
Edward's curious black eyes searched hers once more and satisfied, the corners of his mouth tugged into a smile..
"I'd hoped you'd come back," he whispered.
Kim threw her arms around him, and buried her face in his neck. Edward smelt of leather and grass metal, a tangy combination, but exceedingly pleasant.
"It's been so long," sniffed Kim when they pulled apart. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
A lengthy silence followed her words.
"How…" began Edward, trying to break the freakish quiet. "How is Kevin?"
Kim gave a short laugh. "Kevin is doing fine. I have grandchildren, now."
Kim saw the hurt in Edward's eyes, and continued hastily. "But I've no children of my own. I –I'm not married."
Upon seeing the relaxed look that passed over Edward's face, Kim was almost glad to admit it. As though the lonesome years she'd spent had been somehow worth it, if only for this moment. He had seemed so tense when she'd arrived. But again, silence fell between them. What to say after fifty-odd years of solitude?
Eventually, Kim sighed. "Well, I'd best be leaving," she turned as she spoke.
"No!" Cried Edward. "Please…stay."
Kim's heart was only an inch away from breaking now.
"Edward, I really should be going-"
"Stay with me! Live here! You'll never be alone with –with me…" Edward trailed off. Even to his own ears, his words sounded selfish and pathetic.
"I can't", whispered Kim, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I just can't." And she fled from the castle.
On December 25th the next morning, the newspaper was released bearing the headlines 'Christmas Calamity: Frozen to death!' The paper read:
"On the eve of Christmas…old woman headed on foot through snow…found lying dead around approx. 1 am…named Kim."
In a castle overlooking a devestated village, a person wept. A person howled. A person slashed at walls of stone.
And it never snowed again.