Snow Angel's Masquerade
The man trudged through the forest, cold air stinging his skin. Ever-falling, the snow created a blanket of white on the ground. His boots produced indents in the snow as he journeyed on.
The forest was quiet; all the animals had long since huddled inside their homes to escape the storm. Every tree in the forest was bare, and they supported only the frozen water that had fallen from the sky.
The man adjusted the guitar slung across his back, shaking the snow off of it. He did not know the time of day, nor what day it was. The clouds blocked the sun, and he had not kept track of the date. Time was irrelevant.
After a while, his breathing became heavy, and his mouth turned dry, so he looked around for a place to rest. Finding a dead stump, he wiped it off, then sat down. From his waist, he took a canteen. Dangling it over his mouth, he discovered that there was nothing left.
Sighing, the man allowed the snow to fall on him for a few moments. Finally, he stood up again and continued on his way. He was cold, but that didn't stop him. He was young, with all the energy in the world.
After many hours of trekking through the forest, he finally reached a clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a well, and on the edge of the well sat a dark figure. The man could hear soft music coming from the well, an old Irish love song named "Danny Boy".
He smiled, recognizing the tune from his childhood. Walking up to the well, the man took a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the well. The still-liquid water rippled, but the ripples moved towards the coin splash.
Turning around, the dark figure looked at the man and smiled. It was a young woman, brown hair whipped around by the wind. Her eyes sparkled with good humor, and the golden flute she held in her hand shined through the darkness.
The man took the guitar from his back and plucked a note, and it rang through the night air. He smiled as well.
The snow whipped around the two musicians as they played their instruments. Their song began slowly, in a minor key, sad and lonely.
It spoke of love lost, of a war not worth fighting. The tale it told was not a happy one, but both the man and the woman enjoyed their time playing it. Rather, they enjoyed their time playing it together.
As the man strummed his guitar, and as the woman blew her flute, the wind blew over the surface of the ground. It cast up all the snow from the forest floor to the air around them, which soon became almost impossible to see though. Every leaf lying under the snow was picked up as well, and they whirled around like a tornado.
Faster and faster spun the storm of snow and leaves as the man and woman picked up the tempo in their song. It changed to a major key, and suddenly, the dreary atmosphere was lifted. A few birds flew down to join in the masquerade, and danced on the air currents. Through the blurry air, they looked like angels.
By now, it was impossible to see anything. But sight didn't matter to the man. All that was important was the music. As long as he had his music, his body was immortal, his mind was impervious, his heart impenetrable.
Eventually, the song began to die down, and the rhythm began to slow again. The tornados continued to whirl around, but not with the same fierceness as before. All the birds settled on nearby trees, resting after their little festivity.
As the wind died down, the snow and leaves settled back on the ground. The sun was shining through the clouds, reflecting off the water in the well.
Looking around the clearing, the man searched for the woman with the flute. But she had disappeared.
He stared down at the ground, then blinked. A small object stuck out of the ice. The man walked over to it and picked it up, wiping off the snow. It was the golden flute.
He smiled, and placed the flute to his lips. And began to play.
Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountainside.
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,
For I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow.
Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so.
And when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And o'er my grave shall warmer, sweeter be,
And if you bend and tell me that you love me,
Then I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.