I haven't posted any fiction on this blog before, but I thought I'd give you a brief story for Christmas. It isn't actually a Christmas story, although it's vaguely seasonal. I hope you enjoy it.
It
was his fevered, dying delusion, of course.
How could it be otherwise, after days stumbling through the burning
sands of the desert? Maybe death was
kind, after all, and came as a cold, beautiful snow-fall.
He
rolled onto his back, opening a parched mouth to catch the flakes, but they
swirled too wildly in the wind – still the burning winds of the desert – and
settled on his body instead. Weak hands
scrunched up suddenly wet clothes, so that he could bend and suck their
moisture.
It
was scarcely enough to dampen his mouth, but he felt at once refreshed and
stronger. Sitting up, he tried to peer
through the snow, but it was falling heavily now, whiting out his surroundings
as effectively as a sandstorm.
He
got to his feet like a newborn foal, staggering on weak legs but gradually
regaining balance. Taking an
experimental step, he realised that he was still walking on sand, even though
the blizzard was now heavy enough for a complete carpet of white.
It
didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except
that he was strong again and happy.
“Will
you play with me?”
He
whirled around at the voice, and saw her standing where no-one had been a
moment before. She looked about ten: a
pretty girl with a sparkling, impudent face, dressed in a thin summer frock,
her feet bare.
When he
didn’t reply – he tried, but no voice would come – she put her head on one side
and asked, “Do you like the snow? I
thought you would.”
“Did
you make the snow?” His voice sounded
harsh and unnatural in his own ears.
“Are you a goddess?”
She
considered that. “I suppose I am, in a
way. I’m not a scary goddess,
though. I just like to play. Do you like snowballs?”
“Yes.” It was a strange conversation, though
entirely natural. “But there’s no snow
on the ground.”
The
girl hit her forehead dramatically, pulling a playful face. “I knew I’d forgotten something. There is now.”
Looking
down, he saw thick snow carpeting the ground for as far as he could see. The girl bent down, gathering snow up into a
tight ball, and threw it at him. It
didn’t sting at all, merely refreshed him, and he stooped to make his own
snowball.
“Can’t
catch me,” the girl called out, running away, but not fast enough to avoid
being hit by his creation. She squealed
in delight, and they began a running, screaming snowball-fight that seemed to
last for hours. When they finally tired
of that, they built a snowman together, and then lay exhausted, making
snow-angels.
Finally,
the girl reached over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “It’s time to go now,” she said. “It’s all right, though. You don’t have to go back to the
desert. I told you, I’m not a scary
goddess.”
His
body was lighter, less substantial than he’d ever known it, but that was all
right. The snow still fell, playing in
the wind in and out of him, and his body and consciousness mingled with it,
playing and swirling in all directions, until it was indistinguishable from the
rest of the snow.
“Goodbye,”
said the girl softly. “Have fun.”
