First Snow

The first snowflake tumbled from the sky.

Elegantly twisting and turning, it was unaware of the great height from which it was falling. It slowly drifted from the gray storm clouds, carried safely on the wind, and settled gracefully on the fine layer of black gunpowder that coated the beach. The second snowflake landed on a face that was streaked with blood.

Her bare feet left deep white patches in the soft powder, the primal-looking prints starkly contrasting with the modern guns. Her chestnut hair whipped about her head in the icy winter breeze rolling in from the sea. As if in response to the carnage that had taken place on its shores, the ocean churned turbulently, protectively warding off further intrusion.

The wind nipped at her cheeks, the harsh sting to her nose bringing tears to her eyes, but she hardly noticed; since the tragedy had struck their little village the week before, it seemed that the entire town—or what was left of the town—had been in constant mourning. She now no longer noticed tears or internal pain any more than she noticed her own heartbeat. Her legs carried her jerkily along the chilly beach, her hollow eyes passing from body to body.

Hundreds of lifeless forms were scattered in the sand, sprawled as if they had been dropped from a great height, toy soldiers knocked aside by a careless child. Most of them seemed to be frozen in mid-action, giving every appearance that they would begin moving again at any moment.

Closed eyes, open eyes, blank eyes. Hands curled into fists, reaching for guns, covering their heads, shielding their eyes. Blood covered their heads, faces, hands, legs. Blood was splashed on the sand, as frozen as the dead expressions. Everything was deathly still; even the wind pressing against her ears made no sound. The beach was like a tomb in the open air.

She found him, although she had not even been looking for him. Out of the myriad of nameless faces on the beach, she had been drawn to him in particular. Awakened from her trance, she blinked at him curiously, as if she had never before seen a human being. Like most of the soldiers lying in the sand, he was young and handsome—now eternally so. He was lying in relative seclusion, his head flat on the sand but his body twisted at an impossible angle. One hand flopped dejectedly halfway to the gun holstered at his hip, while the other arm was outstretched, as if he had been looking for something. His eyes were closed, and there was only a small cut on the bridge of his nose and a scrape near his ear. It was nearly possible to believe that he had fallen asleep there in the sand, perhaps after a day of swimming at the beach, but the left side of his chest was stained crimson so dark that it was almost black.

The wind had long since numbed her body, but at the sight of the young man lying dead, a number among a sea of dead, caused a bolt of pain to slash through her chest, leaving her more opened and in pain than she had felt in days. Nothing could have prepared her for the utter crumbling that she felt inside, as if her heart was being crushed to a pulp in an iron fist. His was the face of her brother, her father, her friends, her neighbors—those she feared she would never see again. Her head spun, and she felt sick to her stomach. It was only when she felt the coolness of the sand beneath her knees and palms did she realize that her legs had given way.

Her elbows trembled, threatening to collapse and cause her to topple face-first into the black sand. She swallowed heavily beyond the lump in her throat, her cheeks stinging from the cold as tears spilled from her eyes and splattered onto the powder beneath her. Slowly, she looked up at him again and let out a soft sound that was almost inhuman, a primal cry of grief.

Hardly aware of what she was doing, she shakily dragged herself through the cold sand. Sobbing, she raised herself onto her knees, irrationally searching his face for any sign of life. The cold weather had preserved him so well that it really did look like he was asleep. His lips were tinged slightly blue. Crying, she carefully placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to roll him onto his back in a more comfortable position, but his body was rigid and she immediately retracted her hands as though burned, visions of injuring him flashing through her mind.

With a tiny shuddering gasp, she regarded him for another few seconds and then lay down in the sand beside him, curling herself to his side. She let out a tiny shudder at the feel of him; he was as hard as a rock and as cold as ice, as if he really was and had always been nothing but an object. She placed her hand on his, and his skin was like frozen leather.

As her body went into hypothermic shock from the freezing cold, as the tears froze on her cheeks, she slowly relaxed. She gazed up at the snow falling above them, at the flakes accumulating on his arm and chest, and she felt an unnatural calm slip over her like a blanket. She no longer felt cold or frightened or even the pain that had ached inside her heart for a week since the attack. Lying beside the dead soldier she did not know, she slowly drifted into unconsciousness and dreamt of meeting him in another life.