She didn't mind the first few tufts of crystallized liquid settling onto her skin. She didn't mind the liquidization as they became frigid and tingling bites on her pale complexion. She didn't mind when they fell in a flurry and drenched her to the bone; she merely continued to trudge aimlessly toward no particular location.
Perhaps somewhere abtruse and disclosed. Somewhere exclusive to her own existence. If anyplace would have her, or if she could find a hideaway secretive enough that it wouldn't already be inhabited. But for the moment, she was alone.
She didn't mind. She never did. Winter was cold. Life was colder.
She wasn't certain as to what brought on this sudden inexplicable and irrational wave of melancholy- or depression, if you rather- it had simply implanted a virulent foothold and refused to be expelled, extinguished, obscured, ignored, or anything of the like. It had made itself her companion, for better or worse. And lately, it was much worse. Increasingly so. But who did she have to confess these illogical and foolish feelings to? Who would she inform even if they offered assistance, for that matter? She had built her ego and defenses to such an extent that they served their functions: obstructing anything from entering her boundaries. But they didn't keep the emotions out. They had a knack for slithering through crevices and crannies. And enveloping her naked shell in the darkness. But why did it always have to be the negative emotions?
There was only darkness and cold on the opposite side. There was no fear of abandonment, no anxiety or worry that someone would betray her, because she didn't invest trust into anyone. The very concept of the word was something alien to her when it came to integrating it into relationships and not herself. There was nothing good on her side, but she typically absorbed it with an indifferent neutrality. Yes, there were no hugs, no kisses, no embraces, appraisals, or anything of the sort. But there was no fear of losing any of that, either.
Yet the longing always failed to dissipate, regardless of how much she denied it or attempted to convince herself otherwise. This supposed 'most wonderful time of the year' only accentuated the longing and mournful ache that gnawed at her black and corroded heart.
She would see the children, she would see an innocent vivacity exhibited in them. She would see carelessness and happiness- all things she had been deprived of. Though not physical things, infinitely more valuable than any possessions she held claim to. She would watch as they hurled balls of frozen water at each other, constructing walls and fortresses out of masses of it, laughing childishly as if it were the ultimate euphoria. It was pathetic; yet all the while it made her stomach churn and a sickly flame of anger and resentment burned for the loathesome little vermin.
As a child herself, she wanted nothing more than to partake in their idiotic festivities, and she found, to her frustration and dismay, that even at twenty-one years of age, she still yearned for such a vapid and simplistic 'pleasure.'
Alas, she had been too precocious... And that was putting it mildly. She had been impelled from associating herself with other people; children in particular. And for what? Occasionally the question would spring unannounced and she would be shocked that it even existed within the depths of her mind. All that mattered was the improvement of herself. Why was this important?
She tried not to care. She wouldn't dare. Caring was beyond her. Beneath her. Which was it? Was she too afraid to just take risks and gamble a shot at happiness, or was she just a cynical bitch?
Both... She surmised mentally with a pragmatic apathy. Her thoughts always became a grocery list, as shitty a metaphor as it is, if you happened to have added something you didn't need, you crossed it out. She tried to convince herself that's what it was that she was doing, but it was the opposite in this instance.
How I wish I could join them. There's work to be done. Would they play with me? I don't have time for that. I hate this... I'm fine. It's not fair.
The thoughts were there, it was just a matter of not taking them to heart. Not letting them affect you. And she was a master of that art- rather, there were periods in which she felt as though that was almost true.
Year after year, she would set out during the first snowfall and watch them in the same location, though it always began as wandering. Or so she thought, even though she never had even taken it into consideration. The children changed, the games and amounts of snow all varied.
The yearning didn't. In fact, it only seemed to accumulate as the years went by. As winter came to pass, it would recede into the depths of her mind, where it would hibernate until word of snow came again. Then the concept would gestate itself once more, with a greater strength and malevolent intent. She could sense its bitter triumph and ecstasy regarding how greatly it affected and influenced her humor.
She found a bench and sweeped aside a blanket of loose snow so she could sit atop it. She sat stagnantly observing their barbaric ways. Running, screaming, ducking and hooting. They laughed and formed tribes, typically boys versus girls in some strange war with no discernible victor or loser. They would chant insults playfully at each other and paid her no mind- they really held no regard for the outside whatsoever, even as onlookers passed; some staring dreamily at the children and shaking their heads in a manner she couldn't empathize with. And others with a disdain she could sympathize with more easily.
And suddenly, an explosion. Her head rocked back and she cried weakly despite herself. No- not an explosion- a snowball had burst apart above her eye and left a large, numb, red welt. It throbbed painlessly and faded to a paler hue as she slowly regained her composure and began to survey the children once more.
They had gathered around her more or less in a semi-circle, panting clouds of carbon dioxide with worried looks plastered on. They ranged in age from what she estimated to be four to ten. They all seemed to be aching to say something, and eventually, a girl did.
"I'm sorry, miss... We didn't mean'ta... Please don't be mad." They all stood with their heads either down or they simply averted their gazes. They fidgeted and shuffled on their feet as if eagerly waiting to be waved away with a nonchalant gesture.
But she felt dumbfounded. She would have never expected that. What was it? What was the other feeling?
She stifled a giggle, snorted, and began to laugh excessively. The children- six of them- looked warily at one another at first as clouds of moisture erupted choppily from her nostrils and mouth, before joining in themselves. They laugh, not quite understanding just how much pleasure they had bestowed upon her. Their brains not complex enough to entertain such intricate and abstract things as the ideas she had just been mulling. And while this could be considered a bliss, they also couldn't sense the greater distress accumulating behind that unstable joy. It was an insane ecstasy, a shrill ecstasy, a vulnerable and naked ecstasy. Her wall was had been ravaged and decimated. She was nude in the frigid winter winds.
The woman's hearty laughter gave way to heavy sobs as searing tears spilled onto her numb cheeks, singing them. Clear mucus seeped sluggishly from her nostrils and the children weren't laughing anymore.
They huddled closer, and the girl from before laid a hand on her shoulder.
"It's okay, miss." She tried to console her as she began to sob into her hands. And as her weeping persisted, she heard her scold one of the boys. "Jacob, you dummy, you hurt her."
No, that wasn't right. At least not outwardly. The girl didn't understand- nor did any of them. They couldn't begin to fathom the depths of her despair. She was a 'miss' and they were children. Even if they accepted her, she would never truly be one of them, and she could never fully appreciate their tribal ways, as they could not accommodate her own.
As the futile consolation persisted, the snow fell harder and bit relentlessly at her stinging skin. But she didn't mind.
As usual...
For the moment, this fleeting moment of time, they could be the same under this icy sheet of agony. She could be a child who had been pelted with a snowball. And then she would have to go back to being an adult.
This made her cry harder. She figured they judged her, but didn't mind. Perhaps she always had been a child behind her poorly-constructed fortress of snow.