SHORT ONESHOT TIME-BOOYAH! People who read my multi-chaps are probably like, "Why won't she update those..? GOD!" And right now, I'm just content writing a one-shot. Even if this is the second one in the span of an hour...
The sun, whose beams of light clawed across the sky in unparalleled majesty, broke the horizon, changing the shadowed, snow covered land from purified blue to stark white. Aside from the rippling ocean of snowbanks, little marred the sky's connection with the earth, and residents of the tundra proudly boasted the fact. Their voices were heard through the winds relentless billowing, penguins murmur filled squawking and seals joyous baying.
An outsider would take the sounds to be silence, seeing cruel loneliness in the frozen kingdom.
Sitting alone, knees to his chest and hood drawn over bagged eyes was a young immortal. His cerulean orbs watched the wind toss pre-fallen snow flakes into the back into air, chattering in its strange tongue of whistles and gusts. The winter spirit wasn't listening, however, and shadowed face hid a pained, self loathing grimace.
Sometimes, Jack hated the wind.
It was an awful thought, one which he would feel guilty over as soon as the concept formed within the memory deprived chambers of his mind, yet it was true.
Okay, so maybe hate was an exaggeration, but resentment built from envy wasn't, and as its carefree, playful tugging attempted to pull him into the air he resisted the urge to scream.
Why did he feel this way? The wind never did anyone wrong, it spun and danced and whispered with snatched words. It was unseen, unheard, yet not nonexistent. Humans were aware of the wind. They neither hated it not loved it. It was just, there.
Jack envied the relationship it had with the mortals, and he was jealous of the contentment the element felt on the matter. Save for petty things, the wind didn't fret, didn't mourn, it was simply there. Existing.
Why couldn't Jack simply smile, and imitate the wind? Why couldn't he look down at people who he was invisible to, and shrug with sincere indifference? Why did he find himself up at night, sobbing and screaming and thrashing against the futility of it all?
Why couldn't he just be?
Isn't that what contentment was? What happiness was? Why couldn't he be rid of the longing and sadness and hurt within his heart and exist.
If the light breeze that flitted about him sensed his inner turmoil, it didn't show it, dancing it's way up into the albescent heavens that hung shrouded over the Arctic.