Embracing The Madness: HORROR

To Concur Ice and Snow

It was supposed to be different.

It was supposed to be different.

It should have been me.

But it wasn't.

Life is a fragile thread of ice and nothing, it occurred to me under my jagged breaths in the middle of nowhere, the cold animating tears to run down my redded cheeks.

And sometimes, just sometimes, the dressmaker intends to sew a wonderful gown with your thread to later burn it to ashes and watch your life flow into oblivion.

___

My parents couldn't shut up about their magical enchanted reboot-honeymoon they had all planned out what seemed like centuries ago, if only their marriage hadn't lasted only 18 years.

The worst part but their constant blubbering about love and affection was only their iron-clad resolution to let me tag alone, like nasty cargo that was supposed to be shipped from one shore across the Atlantic to the other one.

I'd rather spend my weekend in a dog care station where you could dump currently unwanted hounds that miraculously weren't allowed to set paw on the Bahamas or on the Cook Islands. And I am talking from experience.

Really, I think I could pass as a canine with the right mindset and a fitting costume.

Truthfully, I think I have the opposite problem, that my parents just love me so much, they can't live to see a day fading out without seeing my ungrateful bitchy face. Sometimes I wonder how they even survived the period before I was brought into existence.

Yet they whole-heartedly accepted and sustained my ethereal affinity for calculus, cucumber-tomato-white chocolate sandwiches and my fetish for tragic love stories concerning horned broken creatures, so like I can't really blame them to adore me, even when the entire wrong-doing of any situation could be thanked to me every single time.

Suit your kinks I guess.

At the 31th of January 2022, a plane to Sierra Nevada (California, not Spain gravely) contained a loving married couple, two corgis, an ungrateful teenager, thirteen math books, a sewing kit and an espresso machine to let them all have their time of their lives in a scrawny hotel at the outskirts of a huge snow coated mount in the middle of nowhere.

In particularity, the odd group was headed for a special plateau on mentioned mountain, where the loving couple who also initiated the existence of the ungrateful teenager first considered to be destined for one another and reveled in their mutual liking.

At their arrival, where the end of the short day tended to drag the sun across the horizon and far beyond that, they ushered the mean teen-child to finish one of many fantasy trips, fed the corgis some spare bacon the mother stole from dinner to meet up with Alfredo, a shady looking man if you ask me - but no one tends to do that, given how many years I have just lived - with an auburn mustache and crooked teeth, dressed in the most formidable suit-winter jacket to ever see the light of the mild californian winter sun, introducing them to a troup of travelers, prepared to see the marvelous and the bewitched that might happen on this day according to the statistics of what this mount has to offer.

I waved our wooden hotel good bye, a feeling of discomfort churning in my stomach that I couldn't quite place, nervosity simmering in my veins to fill me up with adrenaline, should danger occur tonight.

Wrapped up in my dark crimson parka equipped with matching gloves, I was carefully watching the chatting and plauderly adults when attempting entering the beginning steep forest into a white winter wonderland.