the short story project


Yvette Days

The Snow Upon the Spring Blossoms

The dark clouds rolled in. The sun at the end of the hole glossed an opposite light. Picture-perfect scenery gave the effect of a flat view, when I should have been seeing multi-dimensional. The light at the end of the road seemed so small, only to get bigger when I approached it. It was almost entrancing, save the fact it wasn’t real. My mind made it up for the sole reason of entertainment, since I couldn’t seem to do that myself. But it was satisfying enough to calm me down from the rooftop I imagined I was trapped on. Snow falling, falling slowly off the tree branches, never from the sky, silently landing in piles on the ground. No one around to question where it came from if not the sky, and my concern far from that. I had been lost on this road for far too long to mind these odd things anymore. My mindset barely thought about getting back, but only reaching the end, for I had no life behind me, or I had simply forgotten after all these dragging years of going forward. Forward, trudging my feet to no end, snow never melting and sun never setting. The same scenery all day, or perhaps there was never a day to begin with, just a time that existed, sat there and remained how it was. 

My life fell down the hill some time ago, I wasn’t sure how long, when I decided to end it. I was upset at the world for not knowing the answer to my problems, and aggravated at myself for not being able to pinpoint what made me feel that way. I was stuck in a birdcage, with the key a foot away. Sometimes I couldn’t seem to reach it, other times it wouldn’t fit in the lock. Always, all the time, my wings were broken and my feathers falling out. So I climbed to the tallest point, with the steepest drop, deciding to put those faulty wings to the test, with full faith they would never work. 

They didn’t, as I had hoped. 

It was painful, the stabbing of rocks as I stumbled, blood flowing out as regret flowed in. But eventually my body became numb, along with my mind, losing the awareness of what was going on. Life was getting sucked quickly out of me, along with the fear and depression I had been so caught up in. Torments that had plagued me felt so trivial, with no meaning or particular reasoning. I was slowly getting absorbed in a warp, cold and thin, when I landed on my feet, standing on a road. 

My initial goal was to get back, out of the small space I was in, though I was outside. However, I soon found I wasn’t in the state of a normal human being. I never required food, water or sleep. All I did was walk toward the glowing light at the end of the road. Trying to turn directions was useless, since every time I attempted, my whole view turned with me. The memory of my name, family and identity eluded me. I no longer knew who I was, nor did I care. My life was beyond saving, and I was destined to walk this sullen road until the one who placed me here changed. 

They did. 

I suddenly caught myself softly looking for breath, which I hadn’t realized I lost. The unfamiliar air moved through my body, offering relief like drinking water on a day in July. My limbs were so heavy I couldn’t feel them, or determine if they were even still attached. I saw no light, heard no sound, only my steady heartbeat drumming in my ears and my lungs getting pumped by an outside force. I felt like I woke up from a dream in which I hadn’t known I was asleep until I awoke, with no recollection of when I drifted off. When I finally attempted to open my eyes and see my circumstances, it was white. White, bright and blurry. I could barely make out the ceiling lights shining above me. Blotches of foggy vision dampened my view, proving it near impossible to recognize the unbelieving faces taking me in. My hearing ability leisurely came back to me, and I layed there, listening to the voices I had long since forgotten, giving me a sense of humanity and civilization, listening to the mellow beeping of a typical hospital, listening to the words spoken that gave me my existence. 

Eight years is quite a long period of time, if it’s lived in repeating expectation of something bound to never come. Like waiting for the rain to stop or a lover to return. My family stayed by my side against all the odds that I would never again wake. The whimsical little hospital room became their world, the bed playing as my house. The coma I had fallen in changed our lives, and it seemed even regaining consciousness couldn’t bring back the time I had missed, nor the sanity I came to lack. My journey of recovering wasn’t a simple or enjoyable one. I had countless physical and mental conditions to overcome, some to plague me for the remainder of my life. It was as though the doctors were raising a child from birth, starting from speech, moving on to walking, making their way of the ladder of simple education. They even had to show me how to chew solid food. Never again, would I have the dream of a career, the pleasure of a spouse, or the plain, everyday tasks of a regular person. Put simply, I was in the body of a newly born sea turtle with the thought process of a fish. 

5 Years Later 

The spring buds that used to belong to the trees dusted off onto the rooftop, in puddles of flowers, embracing me around my feet. The warm breeze came from behind the glaring sun, bringing me its welcoming comforts. I looked up, with an empty mind and loose clothes fluttering in the slow wind. Life, a gift not to be altered, and a curse to be grateful for. Mine would have no improvement in the future, with my inability to follow dreams. But it was still mine, and it would come and go as the seasons do each year, disperse as though it never existed. The insignificant changes and difficulties that arose during my everyday were a loss of a job or wedding day to you. Humble, quiet and uneventful was the course I took, but to me, each day meant I survived living. To me, life can’t kill you, that’s what death is for.