Legacy | Seerat Sohal

ONE COLD WINTER’S NIGHT

Sari Wyssbrod

When the frost settles along the land, it demands a kind of respect. The bitter cold takes over the surface of the world with its downy snow, the grey clouds smother the sky like a scratchy hood, and ice strives to fill the void between that which it cannot quite reach. The air becomes an unforgiving, hostile force that splinters with every movement, shatters against the skin like glass, and attempts to ensnare every warm breath. Yet, as winter coiled her limbs around every inch of the world, Ariel remained remarkably unmoved. He had little to cover him, save him, protect him, but he felt nothing. The question as to the possibility of this plagued him. He had no inkling of whether he had learned to valiantly brave the cold or if he had simply succumbed to it at last. The smell of wavering warmth still drifted through the back of his mind. The sight of his hands outstretched over an amorphous substance that licked away at metal and wood, conquering it all, still burned at his fingertips. But all the while, Ariel no longer yearned to be protected by the heat and instead welcomed the cold breeze of winter. The howling winds that pulled at him drifted softly past his ears, singing his name in a voice warmer than a thousand suns. The gentle voice led Ariel down to the river. The river was once a powerful force, raging past gnarled tree roots and rocks with a lack of mercy that wore them away, dragging anyone who touched it down into its depth. But it too had been brought to its knees by winter. Though some water trickled weakly through the cracks, the wild current had stopped in its tracks, solidified by the hand of ice. The wind had grown stronger now, whistling notes through the bare trees and lifting up their fallen leaves. Through it, Ariel could still hear her voice.

Helena had floated in his mind for ages, or more properly, had anchored herself to his consciousness. At first, when the grief made him raw, he loved nothing more than to hear her voice in every whisper of the world, but now it was nothing more than a torment. Everywhere he looked, he saw the color of her eyes. Everything he heard was her voice. Everything he smelled brought him back to a moment by her side. Everything he touched was the fabric of her dress. It drove him mad. A choice had to be made; a tie had to be cut. Helena would always be in Ariel’s heart forever, but the weight of her in his head would soon bring him down. The leaves did not shake when the wind raked through their homes for they were on the ground. Under Ariel’s boots, the foliage, heavy and sodden, refused to crackle when he stepped across them. The gentle, comforting susurrus of the river had been reduced to an eerie, unsettling trickle. Unsure of what was here for him if not even the earth’s God-given hum, Ariel waited. He pulled out an envelope from his coat. Old and worn, it crinkled under the weight of his fingertips. Unfolding the papers in a familiar, routine way, Ariel slipped out a letter graced with the final touches of Helena’s soul. Snowflakes gently landed over the ink, dampening the page and streaking her words across it. Ariel might have desired to protect an item so precious to him if the writing on the page was not already smeared by his own teardrops. read it again. Besides, he had no need to ever read it again. Every word on the paper had been ensrhrined in his memory and etched into his solitude.

Then it was as if Helena stood before him in that hollow by the stream. Like always, she was the most beautiful sight, but some otherworldly aura made her feel out of place. She smiled sadly, her beautiful eyes dulled like the snuffed wick of a candle. Each of them should have been over joyed to see each other, but both had only exchanged pained glances. “I’m sorry,” Ariel whispered. “I love you. I always will.” Ariel realized that thinking of Helena the way he did, how often he did, and how painfully he did was just as poisonous to her as it was to him. Until Ariel could release her, she was just a ghost doomed to haunt him. Neither could go on the way they did. So, Ariel tore apart the letter in his hands. He felt a tear in his heart with every piece of the parchment he destroyed, but, when it was over, he felt lighter as if some force had lifted a weight from his shoulders. Thinking they deserved a better end than to wear away in the cold snow, he slipped the remaining shards of the letter into his pocket. A creak echoed through the space as a tree somewhere along the bank gave up, slipped from its grip in the earth, and crashed into the river. Its fall tore through the ice, releasing the river from the teeth of frigidness. The waves crashed through the stony snow, eating swiftly through winter’s grasp, which slowly wore away. Ariel made his way back to his home, lit the fireplace, and dropped the letter into its gaping, hungry mouth. He found himself in the first slumber of his life where no agonal nightmares or sweet, nostalgic dreams tormented him.