Short Story |
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Snow
by Dominik Jarco (Australia)
“I’m going to be honest with you... I’m afraid.”
She looked at me as I spoke, then turned her gaze back to the flames. For a long time neither of us said anything. The fire crackled, and she huddled closer to it, extending her hands, warming them. A cold, snowy breeze sifted through the trees, its pitch shifting, ebbing, ever-changing; a wintery, soft, shrill song with no discernible rhyme or rhythm. Snow fell with the wind, landing lightly on her cloak, turning to water as it did so.
I looked around the miniscule clearing. There was no living creature in sight. The low visibility, courtesy of the nearby trees pressed closely against each other, was marred further by the fog that accompanied the snow.
The fire burned between us in defiance of the extreme cold surrounding it, providing a small area of precious warmth, of comfort. The appeal did not give me solace. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was dimly aware that the moment was picturesque, and so was she. She sat, arms around her knees, head resting on her forearms, staring contemplatively into the flames. From under her hood, a single lock of curled, brown hair refused to be contained, hanging down from behind her right ear. Her dark brown eyes held a look of fierce concentration, as if she were trying to strengthen the fire with her gaze alone, and yet they were yielding, compassionate, and in them I saw the physical manifestation of her imminent response to my statement.
I saw that her body was gaining what strength it could in these last few moments of quiet apprehension. It was revealed in the heaviness of how her head lay on her arms, and the looseness in her shoulders, as if she had just been relieved of a crushing burden. At the same time, however, she was alert. The stillness with which she held her head, the way her feet touched the snow-covered ground, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice showed that there was vigilance to be maintained even in rest.
Her eyes shifted and locked onto mine and, in a single, infinitesimal instant, we held eye contact. There was sorrow in her gaze; the losses she had suffered could not be buried forever, and she could not help but let the tiniest fraction of her sadness leak out. There was determination, a persistent form of that fierceness she held while looking at the fire; she knew how close we were to it all being over. The years of toil, of injury, of death, of running and of fighting would finally come to an end. There was restraint, because whilst the end was certain, whether our efforts would be exonerated was definitely uncertain, and would continue to be until the struggle was completely over. There was also knowledge: she had learned so much, witnessed so much that it seemed impossible that she could contain it all, and that experience itself was communicated through her eyes.
All this rushed through my mind in a moment, and in the following moment I wondered what she had seen in my own eyes. She was still deliberating over what to say yet, after that gaze, I felt that anything she said would be redundant. The look in her eyes was something that would stay with me forever. Even as I thought, I etched it, locked it into my memory, because moments like these were rare, and it was in moments like these that we didn’t have to fight, we only had to exist; in these moments our mere beings were good enough for fate.
She unwound her arms from around her knees and moved to stand. I followed; we shouldered our packs and trudged unknowingly into the fog, leaving the fire behind. It continued to burn as a symbol of change to the natural, stifling cycles of the world, until eventually the suffocating wind and snow whittled it down to coals and embers which, in time, would also fade away.
She looked at me as I spoke, then turned her gaze back to the flames. For a long time neither of us said anything. The fire crackled, and she huddled closer to it, extending her hands, warming them. A cold, snowy breeze sifted through the trees, its pitch shifting, ebbing, ever-changing; a wintery, soft, shrill song with no discernible rhyme or rhythm. Snow fell with the wind, landing lightly on her cloak, turning to water as it did so.
I looked around the miniscule clearing. There was no living creature in sight. The low visibility, courtesy of the nearby trees pressed closely against each other, was marred further by the fog that accompanied the snow.
The fire burned between us in defiance of the extreme cold surrounding it, providing a small area of precious warmth, of comfort. The appeal did not give me solace. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was dimly aware that the moment was picturesque, and so was she. She sat, arms around her knees, head resting on her forearms, staring contemplatively into the flames. From under her hood, a single lock of curled, brown hair refused to be contained, hanging down from behind her right ear. Her dark brown eyes held a look of fierce concentration, as if she were trying to strengthen the fire with her gaze alone, and yet they were yielding, compassionate, and in them I saw the physical manifestation of her imminent response to my statement.
I saw that her body was gaining what strength it could in these last few moments of quiet apprehension. It was revealed in the heaviness of how her head lay on her arms, and the looseness in her shoulders, as if she had just been relieved of a crushing burden. At the same time, however, she was alert. The stillness with which she held her head, the way her feet touched the snow-covered ground, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice showed that there was vigilance to be maintained even in rest.
Her eyes shifted and locked onto mine and, in a single, infinitesimal instant, we held eye contact. There was sorrow in her gaze; the losses she had suffered could not be buried forever, and she could not help but let the tiniest fraction of her sadness leak out. There was determination, a persistent form of that fierceness she held while looking at the fire; she knew how close we were to it all being over. The years of toil, of injury, of death, of running and of fighting would finally come to an end. There was restraint, because whilst the end was certain, whether our efforts would be exonerated was definitely uncertain, and would continue to be until the struggle was completely over. There was also knowledge: she had learned so much, witnessed so much that it seemed impossible that she could contain it all, and that experience itself was communicated through her eyes.
All this rushed through my mind in a moment, and in the following moment I wondered what she had seen in my own eyes. She was still deliberating over what to say yet, after that gaze, I felt that anything she said would be redundant. The look in her eyes was something that would stay with me forever. Even as I thought, I etched it, locked it into my memory, because moments like these were rare, and it was in moments like these that we didn’t have to fight, we only had to exist; in these moments our mere beings were good enough for fate.
She unwound her arms from around her knees and moved to stand. I followed; we shouldered our packs and trudged unknowingly into the fog, leaving the fire behind. It continued to burn as a symbol of change to the natural, stifling cycles of the world, until eventually the suffocating wind and snow whittled it down to coals and embers which, in time, would also fade away.
Richelle Shem-Tov (Israel): Beautifully written essay. A best!
Celina Jarco (Australia): Beautiful, captivating, I want more please!!
Melissa English (Australia): Only one line of dialogue but your creativity set the scene beautifully. Excellent work, DJ xx
