The snow was falling from the pale blue sky at Kyle's apartment. Kyle had enjoyed these kinds of days ever since he was a little boy. He likes seeing the mid autumn world coated in a layed of pure white gemstones flickering in the dawning, dim sum. Everything from the dry, frigid crab grass to the already cold pavement. He liked how shiny and bright it made the world. He even said to his Mother when he was only an infant in the art of manual labor, "Mom, can I shovel the snow outside?". "Like they do in the movies?". She said back "Sorry sweetie, but that's the people who own the apartment's job to do. Maybe when you grow a bit older they will let you do that for them!" He did indeed do that for the owners now but, If he's completely honest with you, now he'd rather just sit on the balcony of the apartment. Or on a fairly rare occasion, Go and build a snowman. Making a new friend out of snow, and not of flesh. An alternative to the need for human interaction and a creative output. It works like a machine of sorts. Isn't all art?
Him and his friends still went sledding all the time. Sunday, just after church got out, he got with his them to go sledding with, down the imitated ice Mountains of David's Backyard. David lives a little outside of town and his parents have a lot of money so they have a lot of property, over 40 acres of nothing but hills, forest, and a tiny house. In fact, their ancestors from the 1920's had built the first houses in town from dead trees and grounded stone slop. What else were they going to build with? I think that's what heaven is for. To be a place free from the necessary parasitism of nature. As humans always look at the trees as lustfully as they possibly can, magnetized to the sharp metal objects that will only eventually turn on them. As they all gather around the hill with their stuffy scarves, puffy jackets, and inconveniently clunky boots, Tom turns to Kyle who is dragging his 13 dollar sled to catch up with everyone else and looks at the turtle neck sweater that he is wearing. "Dude, do you even know who wore that?". "Ye" David interrupts from the side unannounced. "That's Sarah's sweater.". Kyle looks down at the thick layers and tightly knit nature of the wool strings. Then he looks up. "Yeah, It reminds me of happy times, like lazy Sundays, something my mom always said Sarah liked," he told Tom. "Besides, it looks really nice and feels Cozy and warm. Like a guardian angel almost". "Yeah." David snarled " real nice and dumb". Tom looks perplexed, turning his head in a 180 motion. "Jeez man, the fuck she ever do to you? She's one of his moms you know.". "Exactly" he confidently sighed. "Because she was a fucking fag" His words sink into the crystalline water, melting it with his stone cold breath. At a moment's notice a chemical spilled over Kyle's mind with seething rage. He plowed through Tom, Knocking him to the side as he lunged full horizontally into the thin space. David hit the snow with a crsch! And Kyle wildly rested on him for a fraction of time. His mind worked like a car engine that had jet fuel poured on it, all he could see was fire as the crystalline world of his childhood innocence disintegrated around him. Thud revenge, thud, everyone always criticizing him and his family, thud No one even gave a damn that she was missing, thud, NO one misses her at all thud. "WHAT THE FUCK KYLE?!" said Tom and Jamal, crying the words out to him as an attempt to bring him back from his matrix. "Get Off motherfucka!" shrieked David through his bloody nose. The blood painting the snowflakes a dark crimson red, corrupting it into an amalgamation. It was like it was pretending to be snow. A imitation, a bootleg copy, in sonic terms, a faker.
