I wrote this after listening to O-zone's Numa Numa(Dragostea Din Tei)in English for like..uhh...hours!I love the lyrics..alright no more rambling...This chapter wasnt intended to be so short, but I felt like posting it now to give a slight preview...for you who read this: if you can figure out what hapened to Greg as a child...review with lots of love and rainbows and I'll give you nothing...fair deal? jk.the name of the chapter was from a Kill Hannah lyric from their song: The Collapse.
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Nick and Greg, but I don't...the snow idea came to me after I read a wonderful story from a Greg/Nick writer((If I find out the name, I'll post for credit))
They seemed to always return this way. Either it was the color or the feel or just the symbol that it was reputed to hold up. Which ever way of making itself known, it always brought up the past. Not all of the past, of course. Yet, the painful ones always resurfaced.
It wasn't the snow's fault. He always reminded himself that. Sometimes when he saw it gliding down on moot days, he felt relief. But, that was before the tremors of his mind appeared. Snow was white in color, soft and cold in touch, and it usually symbolizes purity and hope. While he was a child, however, there was no whiteness, softness, or hope for any matter.
He loved his Papa Olaf and Nana. He loved them even if they were quirky, strange, or just abnormally cautious to people. He admired the losses that they gained for him and the reputations as well. The pain, on the other hand, was difficult for them to rid of from his nightmares. They weren't his real parents; he knew that; he did know that they were leaning shoulders for him to grieve on.
He could still feel the cold hands roaming his body as he showered; the ratted stained bed sheets he hid under still clouded his mind on dull days in school. The students in California were different than the ones in Norway that he could remember at least. They took his style of appearance as a unique new trend that only he could pull off; the quiet, distance that he shared with them was also added to his list of popular "coolness". Yet, no one knew the real him. And he kind of liked it that way.
He was never like the great jocks in high, but he was athletic. He surfed most of the time near the sunny beach down the street; sometimes, he even picked up a skateboard. There were never any chilly wind storms or frost-bitten roads to worry him. This was California, his haven to the past.