A Song of Winter Starlight

      He’d been having trouble staying at home so much since he’d lost his job. It seemed like the perfect time to get some writing done but it also felt like he was wasting time not searching for a job more actively. Though, truly, what more can you do but apply, apply, apply and wait, wait, wait? This all to say, he was walking down May Avenue of Neopia Central in order to get out of the house for a bit. Unintentionally, yet predictably, he’d walked a familiar path and found himself face to face with the Planetpoints he worked for just a few months ago. The squat square building was aglow with yellow light through large windows.

      Toad had been miserable at Planetpoints. He’d spent the better part of ten years there and eventually he got old enough that he’d forgotten the lessons of his youth and impulsively, perhaps foolishly, left the job with little other prospects. This left Toad burning through savings and scrambling through random gigs well into the chilly, holiday season that surrounded him now. Unfortunately, come the new year things would be much more dire. The savings were gone and the gig work, which should be flowing around the holidays, had dried up as well. Toad couldn’t afford a four letter word like ‘rent’, let alone another like ‘gift’. He didn’t know what he would do, what he could do, but he knew to turn away from the store

      On his way home, as he crossed the bridge over the North River, it began to snow. Large white flakes fell lazily through the dark sky and disappeared as they touched the cool water below. He stopped, peered over the rail and watched the snow fall for a long time. How peaceful it must be to sail through the night, carried by the wind, one with your purpose and your peers. Toad thought maybe snowflakes knew something everyone else had forgotten.

      Warmth began to blossom on the back of Toad’s neck and he saw light glittering around him. He turned away from the deep river below to find an old Kyrii woman standing before him. She carried a burning torch, the source of the warm light, and wore a thick travelling cloak of ashen gray.

      “Oh, excuse me.” Toad said.

      The old woman smiled back at him.

      “Did you need help with something?”

      The old woman, still smiling, nodded her head. Toad could see, as she raised her chin, her eyes were a winter white. He wondered if she might be blind and in need of help getting home.

      “How can I help?”

      The old Kyrii woman extended the torch to him. Though the torch was small it seemed to give off a fair amount of heat as it crackled and popped before him.

      “Do you need help getting home?”

      The woman shook her head and raised her free hand. She extended a long, gnarled finger and poked softly into Toad’s chest. Then she let her hand drop and extended the torch once more. To Toad, this might have signified that she wanted to be taken to his home instead. He wasn’t entirely sure.

      “Okay, then…” He reached for the torch. “Let’s get you home.”

      The old woman smiled as Toad’s hand closed around the soft wood of the torch. As soon as it was in his grasp he felt an enormous heat as if he sat right in front of the fireplace. Cautiously, he brought the torch in front of him to inspect it. Toad supposed a special wood might be able to burn hotter. As his gaze wandered over the torch, he felt the warmth and light spread all around him. It grew quite hot and bright. Toad closed his eyes instinctively to shut out the light. He could just hear the crackling of the torch loud in his ears. Then, the light outside his eyelids softened and the heat mellowed. Toad opened his eyes and gasped.

          Apartment 240 at the Spring Creek Apartments laid before him. His mom, as she had been 20 years ago when they lived here, was standing on tippy-hoof to hang garland from the popcorn ceilings. Toad looked around for his younger self but it seemed his mother was here alone. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing her in her youth again, active and able. Toad blinked away tears and scanned the room.

      “Toad, do you know where you are?” Mother’s voice? No, not mother’s. She still decorated the apartment. Grandmother?

      “Toad, this is #240.” Grandmother’s voice said. “You and your mother lived here for a bit.”

      “After she and father split up.” Toad choked out. “I remember.”

      “Toad, do you remember how you felt?” Grandmother asked and a wave of memories passed over Toad’s consciousness.

      “I thought they didn’t love me anymore either.” Toad said. His eyes fell to the torch he still carried.

      “Look at your mother, though.” The torch seemed to flicker and shift with the words.Toad obeyed, looking then to his mother as she flitted about the room. On her face, though no one else was around to share in the moment, she bore a warm, soft smile.

      “Your mother has always and will always love you dearly.” The torch with Grandmother’s voice spoke again. “She did everything she could with what you had available to you. And, without you, she would have spent the holiday alone.”

      The apartment around them sparkled with holiday light and cheer. Fake icicles with smiling faces hung from the ceiling, red and green garland lined every wall fixture and frame, carefully wrapped presents were shrouded in tantalizing mystery. Just then, the door opened and time seemed to have frozen. Toad, at 10 years old, stood in the doorway with his mouth agape and his eyes shining. His mother stood just a few feet away, a bow stuck to her dress, with happy tears already blooming in her eyes.

      “You see, Toad,” The torch with Grandmother’s voice spoke in a soft tone. The fire underneath crackled loudly again. “You were worried no one loved you but she was living for you.”

      Toad blinked his eyes. He blinked again. He was home. 30 year old Toad’s home. The torch in his left hand had burned out. He let the wood drop to the dirt road. In his right hand, he found the old Kyrii woman’s gnarled fingers. She raised her right hand to point to his house. Toad released his grip on the old woman and moved toward the door.

      “Are you ready to go in?” He asked. “Sorry I zoned out on the walk. A lot on my mind lately.”

      The old woman stayed pointing at the house. A bit off center, as if she were pointing at the bay window.

      “I don’t understand,” Toad said. “Don’t you want to come inside?”

      The old woman shook her head, raised her left hand to point at her eyes and emphatically gestured with her right toward the bay window.

      “You want to see inside first?” Toad looked from the old woman, to the window, and back. “I was under the impression… Nevermind.”

      Toad stepped back toward the old woman and took her hand again. Slowly he led her toward the window, careful that she didn’t lose her footing in the freshly fallen snow. The window had a dim glow of warm yellow light as they approached. The woman seemed eager, she pressed her nose to the cold glass to peer in. Toad held tightly to her arm, the thick cloak bundled in his fingers, worried she might slip. As she peered in, he himself grew curious and leaned toward the window.

      3008 North Rose Road was lit with the soft warm light of candles. Inside, Toad’s companion sat at the dining table with some knitting, a heating pad, and their two Doglefoxes snoozing at their feet. Toad found himself standing just inside the bay window, in front of a small bench his companion had bought so they could sit and put their shoes on together. As he looked around the room, the Doglefox with curly blond fur raised its head and looked directly at Toad.

     “Toad,” Toad heard an odd yet familiar voice. “We should be in bed, dude.”

     “I know,” Toad said. “They need their rest.”

     “We don’t sleep the same without you.” The curly Doglefox with Toad’s voice said. “And, besides, they’re working on your present.”

     “I don’t need a present,” Toad said. “We can barely pay our bills because of me. They need to focus on getting better.”

     “You make them feel better.” The Doglefox said. “They sleep better, hurt less, with you. And, in times like this, when they can’t sleep you inspire them to create in spite of the pain.”

     The house flickered with warm light and love, the air was heavy with sleepy breath and tea steam. Toad stood amongst the family he’d made for himself in the house that they’d picked out together. Holiday cartoons flickered noiselessly on the TV. Large snowflakes fell outside the window. The Doglefoxes went back to sleep at his companion’s feet and all three let out a sigh of contentment. A large snowflake settled on Toad’s forehead as he peered through the glass pane into 3008 North Rose Road.

     “They’re waiting for me,” He said as he pulled away from the window. “We should go…”

     Toad had the thick cloak bundled tightly in his arms but the old woman was gone. He turned around to look back down the path but saw nothing. Freshly fallen snow covered the tracks of their arrival and her possible departure. He looked back down at the thick cloak. Ashen grey and deep black. It was strange that a thing so dark could be so warm. He slid into the cloak, for the second time tonight a deep darkness seemed to invite him in. And, as he pulled the cloak over his shoulders, the large hood flipped up and over his eyes. He found himself falling through a deep, warm darkness. It wasn’t happy, it wasn’t sad, it was just dark and numb. It felt like he thought it would; being a snowflake.

     As he fell, Toad could see other snowflakes falling alongside him. Huge, massive, enormous and intricate these icy structures sailed slowly down. In their glittering fractals, he saw visions of things and people familiar to him. His mother, old and sad, with the blond curly-haired Doglefox in bed with her. His companion, alone in a hospital room with nothing but machinery and wires to keep them company. In one, Toad saw himself; rolling dice, telling stories, and making new friends. Then, that snowflake shattered into thirteen more which each showed his baby sister’s face in grief. The cloak billowed loudly around Toad as he fell through the endless darkness, an utterly unique snowflake of his own design. Fragile, beautiful, and magical. His descent slowed to an obscenely lazy pace and he looked down to realize he was himself once more and standing on solid ground. He was no longer a snowflake falling through darkness. He looked down at his body and felt at home.

     Yes, the feet were his own. The legs were his own, the head was his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends and live in! Toad turned away from May Avenue and back toward Rose Road. He knew now that there were some bridges better not crossed. As he walked, snow began to fall heavily again and yet he felt perfectly warm. He rushed home, burst in the door and hugged his companion where they sat at the dining table. Tears streamed down Toad’s face and yet he bore a smile as he pulled his friend closer and closer yet. And, in his heart, he knew that gifts were part of the holidays, surely, yet gratitude was the true spirit of the season.

     The End.