Darkness and Snow

The cool, metallic barrel grazed the stubbly hairs on his jaw as he raised the barrel of the gun to his chin, thinking. He felt his fingers wrap around the grip. The power this allowed was no match for the defenselessness he felt however, manifesting via the slippery streams of sweat on his face. He sat there, reconciling the consequences of what he was about to do.

His knees buckled, launching his body face forward off the chair he occupied onto the wooden floor of his two-bedroom apartment. The tears followed, accompanied by the cathartic screams that escaped not only his mouth but also the sweeping balcony doors that stood ajar, exposing his vulnerability to the citizens of the small, isolated street below. No one would hear him. Not here. Not anymore.

The choice he was making would cause some to suffer, he submitted. But it would be insignificant compared to what he had suffered, what he was suffering. And that was ok, he thought. The pain had become so commonplace that he had almost forgotten that that is what it in fact was—pain. The irony, he thought, being so imprisoned he’d almost forgotten he was even a prisoner.

The doctors chalked it down to a chemical imbalance. An assertion his most intimate of acquaintances echoed, but one he denied vehemently. The notion that a chaotic cocktail of neurons provided a vessel for the darkness to travel through was, to him, at best, a subterfuge.

“It’s me” he thought, out loud, flattening his palms onto the floor, gun in hand. He propelled himself upwards with the little strength that his body still possessed, but that had left his mind years ago, and screamed again into the darkness.

He paced the barren flat, wonderings when peace would come. If it would ever come. His mind raced through what he knew to be the failures of his life— rampant joblessness, fears of commitment, and an inability to see past his own biases. These were just the headliners of the rabbit hole of thoughts that were drowning his brain. He cried harder, relishing the physical pain that each sob brought as he finally betrayed the instinctual refusal to weep that had become his norm. Suddenly, an aggressive rap at the door rushed him back to the present.

And then another.

“It’s me!” escaped from behind the door. “I know you’re in there, are you ok? I’M COMING IN!”.

His brother Lenny’s voice sounded more afraid than angry.

His eyes met the door, trying to will the locks not to relent as they slowly surrendered to the keys inserted into them. He cursed himself for giving the spares to his brothers in what could only be called happier times. Tears filled his eyes once more.

The door swung open violently, denting the drywall and sending the entry mirror down with a vicious shatter. He raised the gun to his head once more, locking eyes with his Lenny as he did so, his shadow reflecting his every move on the floor below.

He saw the tears conquer his brother’s face. He had prepared for this, but not for the guest.

Dropping his phone and keys, Lenny ran towards him, sliding the enormous cage in his hands to the side. In it, was a strikingly elegant owl with a white face and two penetrating black eyes.

With only a sliver of moonlight illuminating them, and the sounds of arriving sirens piercing the air, his lenny threw his hands tackling him to the ground violently. Simultaneously, the roar of a gunshot filled the room.

And then, silence.

Scarlet blood began to pool on the floor. His brother shook him, willing the life back into him, but his lifeless eyes remained closed. Lenny shook him again, vigorously, as moments he knew they didn’t have agonizingly passed.

Lenny frantically rested his head on his brother’s chest, praying to hear a beat. Abruptly, he stirred, slowly opening his eyes to the world. As their eyes met, they embraced, hugging the life back into each other. Lenny worriedly patted him down feeling for where the bullet had pierced him but was interrupted by his brother’s pointing.

The owl was propped over, a splatter of bright red blood ruining an otherwise pristine coat, and a cascade of feathers still falling to the ground.

“Who is that?” he asked, as he and his brother gingerly got to their feet, neither of them comprehending what just happened.

“That’s Snow, she was supposed to be a surprise because you seemed like you were isolating again, and I didn’t want you to be alone all the time. I figured she could help, you know?”

He looked down at the gun’s barrel saw the smoke slowly evaporating into the night. He felt a calm overtake his body as relief hit him like an anvil. At that moment, as the bullet discharged, mere moments ago, he realized he wanted to live. What that meant he didn’t know, but he wanted to find out. He wanted to die, sure, but did that mean he didn’t want to live?

He looked over at his brother, smiled, and embraced him. “I think she already has, brother. More than you or she even knows.”

They walked to the kitchen together, slowly. He glanced at Lenny and then at Snow, a rush of affection for the sacrifice the owl had made for him filling him with purpose. A wry smile materialized on his face. It was his first smile in months.

He turned to his brother and asked: “Hey, you still got the number for that therapist?”