Snowstorm

Delilah ran her hand across the Boy’s temple. He was still sleeping curled up in the snow. The sky was gray outside the empty cave and her stomach was just as void. She was unsure of how long they had been traveling together. The days and months bled together and dried into the cold gray swirl. Time seemed to stop when the storm hit and there was no more Gregorian, Julian, or any other calendar to speak of. She continued running her hands across the Boy’s head, worried the furs on her arm would brush across his face and wake him. Delilah knew that eventually, they would have to continue moving south. She would kiss his forehead and he would smile back at her, that warm little smile that can thaw a mother’s heart. But for now, she merely propped herself up on one elbow and looked out the cave walls preoccupied with images of monsters and death around the corner.

“Morning.”

Delilah looked down, the Boy had woken up on his own to the sun’s light peeking through. She’d lost track of time staring out into the white sheets and almost forgot about him. She shook her head and pulled herself up she pulled the boy up off the snow after her.

“Come on little one, let’s get a move on.”

Pulling and dragging her feet through the snow she guided herself and the Boy out of the cave wincing at the light. He was trotting along with his small legs trying to keep up with Delilah. He was a cute little boy, with chubby cheeks in spite of his hunger, his overgrown curly hair created a halo around his scalp, and one tooth missing near the front of his mouth. She’d found Him crying and screaming at the base of a snow hill, wearing a weathered red shirt and an oversized fur coat. Some mammoth instinct overtook her, and the woman who before the Great Blight had always found herself in short skirts, basking in the warmth of neon lights, grasping at an isolated future, ran to the Boy. Cradled Him in her arms and wiped away the frozen tears on his face. From then on They’d become inseparable. He became her purpose. Her mission. Constant worry overtook her and every night she lay awake jumping at shadows to protect Him. Some ancient strain burrowed its way deep inside her and infected each drop of blood, every bone, and every tissue. She stayed alive just for His.

Of course, He also adored her. Looked up at her, literally and figuratively. Clung to her hand and demanded to be by her every night. Despite the cold, and the little there was to eat in the frozen wasteland, He felt Himself growing stronger each day. Pushing through the snow, making footprints that danced around in circles. He loved it when she smiled at His dancing, His running, His voice, she was His mother after all, and He would make her proud and joyful.

Each night He gave her a crown of snow, shaping delicate crystals into a queens’ jewels.

~

The day was early. The sun somehow piercing through the gray sky. She was talking to the Boy about life before the Storm. Life of clear skies and golden hues. Life of cities and countrysides, all sapped away by the Blight. The strength of great civilizations and terrible rulers. Strength of men and women who loved and lost. Stories she’d been told by her Father and stories she’d been told by her Mother. Stories from all the world that they walked over. By now they were just fairy tales, and yet, a pang of nostalgia hit her.

Several hours later the two took a break at the bottom of a snow hill. She braided His hair into long locks down His back. She hummed a tune she didn’t remember the words of and couldn’t place when she’d heard it, but made her think of a warm fire and the taste of cinnamon. Tapping His foot to the rhythm He smiled, and when she was finished He turned around grinning wide, dark vibrant skin against the pale white snow, as braids thumped against His back. A surprising and slight melancholy slipped into her mind. Thinking of the times after the blight and before the Boy. Before she was tethered to Him. The years of walking in the great landscape, as revelations of those deeply hidden truths within Herself slowly came to light. The autonomy, she’d thought she had, but rarely held. Guilt came shortly after. She loved Him. This was her purpose, and He tried so hard to make her happy, how could she think such an awful thing. Counting to ten, she looked back towards the young one, running around in the snow.

Little did either know, the footprints she had left attracted a great cat. Slowly climbing the hill they’d just past, fangs bared claws ripping at the snow. They were playing games, making shapes in the snow when the beast leered over them from the top of the hill. Laughing and giggling with Him, she looked up at the sky, a moment of peace holding her. But only a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. The monster she’d lured, and somewhere deep down she knew she’d brought it. Jerking herself upward in a panic she screamed at Him to run up the other hill opposite of the monster. Grabbing the stick she carried with her, she buried her boots in the snow and faced the cat, roaring at the sky. Hoping for easier prey it swiftly ran down far right of her. She reacted quickly running behind the Boy. Hoping she could at least protect him from some time. He was at the top of the hill when the monster reached Him. It stood on its hind legs preparing to bear down. At the last moment, He rolled down the hill as Delilah lifted the stick upwards into its jaws, where it struggled to maintain control.

Delilah looked down towards the Boy. At the far bottom of the hill, almost out of sight. Letting her grip lax, she ran down beside him. When she reached the bottom, that great beast that had ruled so prevalent in their lives for such a recent period, faded away into the gray haze. For what she saw at the bottom was a reality far graver.

There was warm red melting icy white snow. Looking around she saw the boy was in two. Head and body separated. Long braids chopped short where he was severed. His once smiling, yearning to please face, frozen in the cold. The blood was starting to harden. Opening her mouth to scream and finding herself unable to make a sound, she looked in horror at her hands. They were drenched in red From underneath her fingernails to every wrinkle in her palm. She hadn’t touched his corpse. Yet here she stood, drenched in his blood. Memories came flooding back into every artery in her body. This wasn’t the first time she’d killed him. Nor would it be the last. She’d killed him a thousand times before and she’d kill him a thousand more times. Each time she wouldn’t lay a hand on him, but he’d be dead and gone. She’d be left to wander the plains alone until he came back in some form or another. Terror at her own skin her own hair her own actions filled her to the brink.

And she’d have to sit with that feeling. Until the end of time.