Down the Rabbit Hole

The Season

The season’s first snow had hardened and what little light was left to the day glinted off the ice smooth surface and pooled in pockets at the foot of dirty knee-high drifts. Elson thought back, several days ago, to when the sparkling flakes had spiraled down from a cotton-colored sky, so quiet and beautiful. Now, the obsessive pace of the daily grind had transformed that same new snow into a frozen, hulking and ugly landscape that filled her already darkening mood with deeper purpose. She shrugged on her too big winter jacket and pocketed the cell phone that had been noticeably silent for most of the day.

Christmas was lurking just around the corner. Her lack of enthusiasm was clearly demonstrated in the monotone-wrapped paper parcels thrown haphazardly around the tree, and by the tree itself, a narrow and cheaply decorated fixture with a dull star at the top, hopelessly crooked, most of the sequins and glitter worn off. She thought of the tree now, and the pile of dishes nesting in the sink and the sad and battered wood floors that badly needed polishing, as she gathered up her stuff and prepared to go home for the day. Elson ran through a mental list of the things she promised herself she'd do when she got home. Her head felt too full and her stomach had begun to roll and pitch uneasily, that funny ache returning to settle over her left side, down low, where her ovary would be.