Snow

The snow silently fell around me. There was no noise that could be heard. The white blanket stretched out all around me. I was in a big field, and It was growing dark. I couldn't see much at all. I tried to remember what I was doing here. Why I was out here. I was looking up at the sky, me laying on my back. It was cold. I shivered for a second, then redirected my attention to each of the lazy snowflakes drifting down from the sky. It was not windy, which was good.
I remember when I was little...

Mother used to make the best hot chocolate ever. She would always make a cup while I was outside playing in the snow. I would make snowmans, snow angels, and sled down the small hill in our backyard. Mother would call me inside, and I would walk into the warm, cozy house. My nose would be red and runny, and Mother made me stomp three times to get the snow out of my snowboots. I was clumsy since I had thick gloves, a thick winter coat, think winter pants, and big winter boots.

I would put my arms out in a T formation so that Mother could unzip my jacket. She would help me take off the pants and boots, to reveal my normal, casual clothes underneath. She guided me towards the living room, where a nice, blazing fire crackled and popped as it ate the wood away. Mother would hand me my hot chocolate.

"Be careful, its hot!" She would warn me.

I would always take an eager sip, unpatient, and was rewarded with a small burn on my tongue. After that first sip, I would blow on my hot chocolate. Mother sat with me by the fireplace and we would talk about jolly things, about the most random stuff, all the while sipping on our hot chocolate.

One year, it was different. Horribly different.

Mother had made hot chocolate, just like every other year. We were sitting by the fire when Father came home unexpectedly. It was dark outside, but it was still too early for him to be home from work. Mother instantly tensed.

"Go upstairs, Son." She told me, not taking her eyes off of Father. I found it strange, so I hid at the top of the stairs and watched from between the banister poles. It was so clear in my mind. Oak wood.

Mother was silent. Father approached her.

"What happened?" Mother asked, breaking the terrible silence.

"I got fired." Father simply said.

I was confused at this phrase. I imagined Father getting burned in a fire. I did not like this and I remembered Mother talking about this earlier. She said it was something about not getting money anymore until you can work again. I had pushed it out of my mind. Money had no meaning to me at that time.

I watched Father stagger towards Mother. Why was he so off-balanced? Father could fall! Did he bump his head? He couldn't talk right, either. And he smelled. A strong, foul scent hit my nose. It burned my nose.

I drowned the rest of the conversation out since I didn't know what they were talking about. Something I didn't understand. I was about to go upstairs when I saw something. Father took it out of his jacket pocket. It was shiny and black, and looked like one of those toys I see in the kids section at Wal-mart. Mother told me that if I ever saw it, I should hide, no matter who it was. And to cover my ears.

I quietly went upstairs. My curiosity didn't outbeat Mother's teaching. I had learned in the past that it only brought me misfortune. Mother told me if I ever saw it, to open the window but instead hide under the bed. I complied according to her instructions.

I forgot to put my hands on my ears.

A loud bang shocked me out of my thoughts as I hid under the bed. I became scared and silently cried. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and I shrank farther back under the bed. Father entered the room with the weird thing, and sat down on my bed. I heard a click and a bang louder than before. I watched Father's legs go limp.

The rest was a blur.

I remember walking past Mother, her eyes sightless and blood around her head. I didn't dare look at Father. I knew he had something to do with it.

I fell asleep next to Mother, and the next day I went into town on search for someone. A policeman stopped me and asked where my parents were.

"Gone." I simply said.

The policeman's brow furrowed and he looked down.

"Where, son?" He asked.

"Home. But gone." I said with no emotion.

The policeman drove me home. He had me wait in the car. He came back out of the house, shocked and very worried. He called for "backup." A lady with an overcheerful smile told me they went to heaven, and the nice policeman would like to ask me some questions.

"No." I said.

The lady's smile faltered for a second.

"What?" She asked.

"Father is going to hell. He killed Mother." These words spilled out of my mouth.

I had no idea where they came from. I felt like I was outside my body, watching everything happen.

The rest I could not remember.

I found myself in this field, with no memory but that of my childhood.

The snow silently drifted past my head. I closed my eyes, sleep pulling at my conscience. I was terribly cold, but I felt it ebb away.

When I opened my eyes, the field was gone. All I saw was light. A figure stood over me.

"Mother!" I gasped.