“Time. One of the most intricate and fascinating things in life. It’s relative to the being affected by it. Put your hand on a stove, and it will seem like an hour. Talk with the love of your life, and it will seem like a minute.”
You can notice so many things during a Math class. The ivory color of the dying clouds, shrouding the dark space. So melancholically beautiful, yet so frightening. The satanic shaking of the willows in the wind, chilling people like me to the core. The burning hay laying lifeless on the hills, it’s fire dancing like a tornado.
And then, in not even a moment, you involuntarily shift your gaze to the furious teacher, realizing that he caught you while meditating. He’s spitting out words of dissapointment, rethorical orders, and accusations which make your colleagues giggle. But after he turns to the black board, and you stare into it’s white symbols with no wish whatsoever, you see nothing. Nothing, but…
“Her. Oh, for God’s sake, you reminded yourself of her! Again! She is a danger to your sanity, I’ll tell you that. You can’t spend five minutes gazing into that void without remembering the nights. Ah, but those nights were so…Ah, so pure, and fun, an-ARE YOU IN LOVE?! Oh, fiddlesticks, you are in love, aren’t you? But you didn’t need me to tell you that, did you? See, you hide so many things from me, your conscience, I cannot even be called guilty for the fact that you want to relive those nights.”
Emy can be so annoying sometimes. Oh, well, Math class is over, I didn’t remember a thing, and I’m walking down a dark corridor because some brat thought “Hey, these cables supplying the lights with electricity don’t look so sturdy. I should destroy them so I won’t have to go to school!”. It’s so typical for someone to say that school is one of the hardest things to go through, that I sound like a hipster when I state my opinion.
And guess what? Nature will help your depression! With devilish wind, soaring and cutting open archaic oaks, while you walk on an invisible path, hidden carefully by the void which is now called “night”. So you think all of this through, looking things over in different points of view, and you come home. Eat, write, sleep. Wake up, do the same thing all over again, and it’s December!
And there’s no winter. Fiddlesticks.
So, here I am, behind my laptop, writing about my sorrow with beautifully-thought series of fancy words. It’s way past midnight, and the gloom of my room is growing bigger with every blink, the darkness devouring the quiet TV’s animations. When I noticed this, I quickly jabbed the button of my lamp with my finger, a corona of holy light flooding the bedroom, the shadows fleeing below my bed.
And then, in the blink of an eye, she revealed herself. And then she went into hiding. I blinked twice, but she didn’t come back. What in the name of Churchill was happening to me? Was I just tired, hallucinating, or was this house built on the land of an ancient Indian cemetery?
I now realize that I love her. No! I don’t! I never could! Ah, fiddlesticks, I’ll just go to bed. The laptop is turned off, the lamp is dark, the TV has grown quiet, but I still hear something. I hear…the darkness. I should go to bed before some headless horse pops into my head.
So I close my eyes, I relax my body, and I slide into the sheets, merging with the petrified bedroom. I dreamt of something, but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like some sort of ring. Whatever. The hazy sun’s rays of light pet my eyelids, and I slowly wake up from my deep slumber. I raise my arms in the air, stretching as I touch the pale wall with my fingertips.
As I raise from my bed, showering in the light, I turn my head to the window, noticing some white curtain covering the window. It’s so cold outside that it’s snowing in hell if the window’s frozen. So I pick up my glasses, put them on in a tired motion, and I look through the window, again. Surprise, surprise, it’s snowing so hard outside, that all I can see outside is white.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Last night I was talking from the bottom of my heart, seeing double and getting dark visions, and today it’s snowing in a not-so-subtle-but-happy way. This feels like a cliché. Like I’m in some sort of book. Oh, wait.
I slid my hand across the window, revealing the gorgeous landscape. The pale sky was bleeding snowflakes, the frozen air filled with white powder. As the cars crossed the slippery road, their windshields were constantly swiped, to the drivers’ anger. The winds danced and jumped through the trees, their leafs shaking with passion.
And when the sky stopped crying, the land gave birth to a very thick sheet of sugar. Do you know that moment of revelation when you think you can hear a person’s smile? I reveled in my discovery, and grinned when I heard the trees’ laugh of satisfaction. They finally had a suit to wear this winter. An ivory, beautifully-sewed tuxedo. It was marvelous to hear them thank the wonderland now growing.
However, what was once a small, red garden, is now merged with the highway, small drops of black and red piercing the snow. The far, green hills were cut in half by a white valley, the landscape now resembling a futuristic building.
A spear of cold air stabbed my feet, and I quickly felt a surge of happiness flowing through my blood. I knew that the landscape wasn’t the only thing changing. I scanned my mental calendar and realised that Christmas was coming very quickly. Only 21 more days to go.
I came to school, acomppanied by the muffled sound of my boots stomping the snow. The hours passed quickly, as I traded thoughts with my colleagues about the fresh winter. But, when the night came, every object burst to life.
The walls of my classroom were painted with dark spaceships and violet UFO’s, travelling the galaxy through green, phosphorescent stars. As everybody left the school, we noticed that the dark alleyways now called highways were surrounded by Christmas-themed lights, hanged around wooden columns. A collection of red, yellow and indigo lights bathed the city in a mysterious way. We felt a heavy dose of deja-vu, but carried on with our innocent, childish pleasures.
We were, and are, young, always happy to embrace change. Especially if it involves the winter wonderland. As we walked on the ‘dance floor’, each child running to his house when he saw it, I eventually saw myself alone. Somebody grabbed my hand.
She was there. Her white, snow-dress blinded me with moonlight, and I turned to look into her eyes. She was pale, blood now flowing to her cheeks, turning her head to the ground in attempt to hide from me. I gently lifted her chin, and touched her golden hair while shaking. She raised her left foot, and our lips met.
She whispered an invitation in my ear, and I nodded in agreement. I quickly took off my coat, and she put it on while thanking me. She then slipped into the shadows, and I gazed onto the fence where she once was. The winter wonderland commenced in a blaze of glory, it’s allegory toying with my heart.
“I can’t argue with that.”, a voice echoed in my head.
No, you can’t, Emy.