Sarah gets to her feet and takes the tray to the kitchen. She tosses the leftovers and places the dishes in the sink with the others. At the front door, Sarah dresses for the cold weather outside. She takes her black wool double breasted overcoat and grey wool scarf off the coat rack beside the door. Her black mittens lie in a basket next to the coat rack. She slips them on and tosses her book bag over her shoulders. Ready as she’ll ever be, Sarah heads out.
Her home rests deep in the woods isolated from the rest of society. She must walk for the better half of a mile just to reach her bus stop. Overnight, a blanket of snow has enveloped the forest floor. On days like this, Sarah’s father would drive her to school, but that was a whole year ago. Now, Sarah walks and prefers to walk. She also prefers to think she has a choice.
When Sarah steps into the snow, she finds her foot buried. The snow collapses over her boots. With every step, it feels as if small hands are holding Sarah to the ground. While no one grip is hard to break, the sheer number of steps quickly begins to weigh on her. As she walks, Sarah tries not to think of the trudge still between her and the bus stop.
Sam walks beside her. Lighter than the snow itself, he leaves no footprints as he glides along. He does, however, walk with a limp and uses a cane. Sarah has never asked about his limp nor does she hold any real interest in it. She simply finds it odd and wonders if it’s fake.
“Did I ever tell you I hate the winter,” Sarah says huffing. To which, Sam asks, “Is there a season you don’t hate.”
Sarah thinks for a moment, “Well, I guess fall is the least annoying. Really, there’s nothing annoying about it. Except the people; they’re my only problem.”
“How so,” Sam asks taking in a deep breath of lights.
“Their fascination with the changing leaves,” Sarah answers, “People see these leaves changing colors and find them beautiful. I don’t think it even dons on them that the leaves are dying. They fall from their trees, only to be covered by winter’s snow, like a white sheet over a corpse. And yet people find it beautiful. They watch all those leaves fall; but, I doubt they see a single one die. It doesn’t even cross their minds. Fall is the season of dying, you know, but to them, it’s just pretty colors.”
“So you believe color has blinded them to the season true nature,” Sam clarifies, “How ironic.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Sarah answers. Gasping for air, she stops walking and presses up against a tree. She drops her book bag in the snow beside her. Huffing she complains, “Yes, I’m quite sure now, winter is my least favorite season. The sun might suck in the summer; but at least, I can ride my bike to the bus.”
“Really, what a shame,” Sam says, “I find winter to be my favorite of the four.”
“That figures,” Sarah says, looking at Sam unsunken feet, “I’d find it beautiful too if I didn’t have to deal with the snow.”
“It’s more than just the beauty of it,” Sam insists, “The winter is so familiar to my nature. The duality of clean white snow over a black forest simply radiates with me. I never cared for pigments. Look at a rose through the eyes of thousands, not one will agree on its color completely. Sight, I have found, is as opinionated as taste. The only truth is in the shades and shadows.”
“Is that why the world’s so grey through your eyes?”
“Do you regret it,” Sam asks, “losing the colors of the world?”
“No,” Sarah says, pushing herself from the tree. She retrieves her bag and continues, “for what I got, it was well worth it. Besides, I didn’t lose all color; there are the masks.”
“Yes,” Sam puffs on his pipe as he follows Sarah, “those colors are true. No matter who sees them they are always the same.”
“It is pretty,” Sarah says, gazing into the forest. The trees slumber naked under the moonlight. Frost sparks on the branches and clumps of snow take the place of leaves. “I think it would be peaceful to die out in the woods, to just be another leaf buried beneath the snow.”
“Freezing to death may not be as pleasant as you think it is,” Sam states, “It is a slow, painful, and maddening way to go.”
“I could take the pills then walk into the wood,” Sarah argues, “This would just be the place, not the method, geez.”
Sarah takes another rest about two-thirds of the way. This time, she plops up against a tree and sits in the snow. Her bag soaks beside her. “Damn, this snows a pain. I should have just stayed in bed.”
“I think the winter would agree with you,” jests Sam, “For the trees and many woodland creatures, winter is a time of slumber. It asks us only to slow and rest. The cold seeps the living of their strength and pushes them to seek comfort. When mortals think of winter, they think of shelter, fires, thick clothing, and warm, hearty meals.”
“Please stop talking,” Sarah sighs, “God, if I miss the bus, I’ll have to walk all the way back home. This would all be for nothing.”
“Best hurry then,” Sam says. Sarah rises and once more trots through the blanket of snow. The two walk in silence. Sarah watches the forest. She searches it for lantern spirits. Soon, she begins to see one after the other. They are shadows in the forest. Bright orbs of light float before them like lanterns. The forest quickly fills with these wandering lights.
“They’re so beautiful,” Sarah says.
“The colors only coat a core of mediocrity,” Sam states with a puff, “Their souls, like a piece of gum, hold far less flavor than you would imagine.”
“I doubt my soul is any sweeter.”
“I don’t care for sweet,” Sam states with another puff, “I am a ghoul of bitter tastes, and your soul is bitter to its very core.”
“I should be offended,” Sarah jokes, “calling my soul bitter.”
“No insult hearts quite like the truth, aye.”
“I guess. So, what will it feel like,” Sarah asks, “becoming part of you?”
“You will feel nothing,” Sam answers, “Souls have only one sense and that is telepathy. Our mind will merge and become one. You will lose yourself within my domain.”
“What is that like?”
“It is a limbo of a place,” Sam puffs, “A quiet, colorless city of shattered memories.”
“That sounds about right,” Sarah says before asking, “Do you care if I live a long life, Sam?”
“Not at all,” Sam answers, “It is the quality of a thing, not the quantity.”
“I see,” Sarah says. The silence resumes. Before long, Sarah reaches the bus stop. To her dismay, she arrives just as the bus does. The bus driver beeps at her. With a sigh, Sarah rushes the rest of the way. Gasping for air, she reaches the bus. Ted, the bus driver, opens the door. Sarah holds herself up on the railing as she climbs up the stairs. Noticing her struggle, Ted asks, “you alright, snowflake?”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“I’m fine Ted,” Sarah replies. Ted’s mask is a unique one; Sarah has yet to see another like it. It’s made from tree bark and molds to the face beneath it. His eyebrows are thick and made from moss. A similar moss forms his wild beard and long hair. Both are decorated with red and white berries. A woven crown made from twigs sits atop his head. Sarah is unsure of the masks meaning. She knows little of Ted other then he always smells heavily of tobacco, which masks a fainter scent of marijuana.
“You don’t look alright, deary,” an elderly woman says. She sits in the first seat of the bus. Her mask forms the head of a crow with large bulging eyes, like those of a chameleon. The head is made of black stone and well polished. The eyes resemble fist-sized black pearls. A shallow cavity has been carved into both eyes. A ring of gold around the inside of each cavity forms an iris. Both eyes fixate on Sarah. Her mask is rare too; though, Sarah has seen features as it’s in others. The woman pats the seat next to her, “Would you like to join me?”
“No, but thank you, Ms. Bishop,” Sarah answers, “I prefer to sit alone.”
The bus lies nearly empty. Aside for Ms. Bishop, there are only six other passengers. Their masks are all pretty common. They are all grey masks. Some have a few splashes of color here and there but nothing spectacular. Two are made of stone. The other four have the thin, frail texture of papier-mâché. All of them take the appearance of animals, three birds, a bunny, a frog, and a wolf. Sam is nowhere to be seen. He does not accompany Sarah in public, but she can feel him. His presents lies in every shadow, both beyond the bus and within.
Sarah walks to the very back of the bus. She takes her place on the last seat of the bus. Sarah rests up against the wall and stares into the window. Dawn is breaking in the winter. Sarah sees one of Ms. Bishop’s eyes still watching her. She tries to ignore its gaze as the bus begins to move. Sarah closes her eyes and fades into sleep.
A crowd of grey masks begins to form by the second stop. A crying boy wakes Sarah. She sees the small boy, no older than five, accompanied by his father. The dad has a stone lion for a mask. Black tears fall from its eyes. Sarah wonders if his wife has passed. The boy’s mask is little more than just an imprint of his face. It shifts quite rapidly from stout, to sad, to board, to sad again. Tears form only to vanish seconds later.
On the third stop, Sarah is surprised to see her childhood friend Abigail. Sarah sees Abigail as she crosses the street. Sarah slouches down in her seat and hopes the crowd will hide her. Only moments later, Sarah hears, “hey, what are you doing way back here?”
Abigail, clearly searching for Sarah, has wormed her way through the crowd. Propping herself back up, Sarah answers, “This is where I always sit. The bus only gets full after my stop, and I don’t like people walking past me. So I sit back here.”
“Wow,” says Abigail, sitting next to Sarah, “you had that prepared.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I believe you; it’s just I didn’t actually think you had a reason to sit back here.”
“Well, I do. Anyway, why are you here? Don’t you usually get driven to school?”
“Well, yeah,” says Abigail, fiddling with her fingers, “but I kind of lost my riding privileges.”
“Is it because of last week’s math exam?”
“Ahaha, kind of, yeah.”
“Figures.”
“What’s that suppose to me,” Abigail asks, “I tried really hard to pass that test.”
She isn’t lying. Sarah knows all too well the number of tutors Abigail has to put with. It doesn’t matter though. There’s nothing special about Abigail. She’s a perfectly common person. One look at her mask and anyone could see it. It’s a grey peacock. Its colorless feathers flow down the back of her head like hair. It has the fragile texture of papier-mâché. The only colors it does have are in the gold teardrops, which hang from emerald eyes.
Like Sarah’s, Abigail’s mask only covers the top half of the face. Sarah has often wondered about this similarity. To her best guess, it is because they both are liars. Both of them hide behind fake smiles and rehearsed opinions. Neither considers their mouths a part of themselves; rather, it is a part of who they’re suppose to be. The only person Abigail doesn’t lie to is Sarah. Sarah does not share this honesty in return.
“I know you try,” Sarah comforts her. Wearing a fake smile, she places a hand atop Abigail’s own and says, “All I meant was I knew they weren’t going to take the C well. So it figures that’s why you’re here.”
“I guess,” Abigail says. She chews her lower lip as she looks down at Sarah’s hand. Sarah pulls her hand back, “All we can do is try harder next time.”
“I don’t know if I can try any harder,” Abigail weeps, “I’ll just have to get use to riding the bus, I guess.”
“Don’t say that; I know you can do better,” Sarah lies. Abigail looks over at her and gives a weak smile, “Thanks.”
Sarah continues to console Abigail, to the best of her teachings. On the fourth stop, Sarah’s friend, Lily gets on the bus. She waves at Sarah and rushes past the other passengers. Her mask is a gold sun. It is made of metal, the rarest of materials, and holds a kind motherly face. Crimson tears run down from clear sparkling eyes. Gold and copper flames fold over the back of her head.
“Good morning, Sarah,” Lily says with a cheerful expression. Her tone shifts as she notices Abigail next to her, “what are you doing here?”
“Well, a good morning to you too,” Abigail says sarcastically, “If you must know, my dad is running for mayor. He wanted to show the Fosters aren’t above public service; so I volunteered to take the bus.”
“How humble of you,” Lily mocks, “so, uh, are you going to move or what?”
“Well no, of course not,” Abigail laughs, “we would still live here.”
“No, I mean out of my spot,” Lily corrects.
“Oh, well, still no,” Abigail says, “you can sit next to me.”
“Abigail, just scoot over,” Sarah says, “I’ll sit in the middle if it means that much.”
“But you like sleeping against the wall,” Lily states.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll get much sleeping either way.”
“So what, you just watch her sleep,” asks Abigail, scooting one seat over. Sarah follows, and Lily sits against the wall. “No, I usually sleep up against her.”
“Oh my God, that so cute,” Abigail says, “I totally need a picture of that!”
“Don’t be a perv,” Lily snaps.
“But you two must look so cute together.”
Annoyance passes over Sarah as she listens to the bickering. Tired, her head bobs slightly. Lily asks, “Are you alright, Sarah?”
“Yeah,” Sarah lies, “I guess I’m just a little sleepy.”
“Well, maybe talking about the Christmas dance will wake you up,” Abigail suggests, with such glee in her voice. Sarah forces a smile and says, “Yeah, I can’t wait.”
The Fosters Holiday Ball, as it’s formally known, is a party Sarah does enjoy; if only to see the remarkable masks of the elites. Powerful figures from all over come to the ball, in hopes of an audience with Abigail’s parents. Though many of them are as common as Abigail, lots of them have amazing metallic masks, like Lily’s.
Just to see Mr. and Ms. Fosters masks again would be worth the party. Mr. Fosters is a green dragon with ruby and a rainbow of feathers falling down the back. Mrs. Fosters is a gold and silver phoenix, which covers only the top half of her face. Its long tail of iron and copper feathers wrap around her neck like a scarf. They are both quite spectacular.
“You still have to pick out a dress,” Abigail says, “we should go this weekend.”
“Yeah,” Sarah replies. Her eyes grow heavy at the idea of looking through dozens of grey dresses. “sure, should be fun.”
“Man, I wish I could go,” Lily adds. Abigail looks over at her, “If you want I can get you an invitation.”
“Oh, but I don’t have a dress,” Lily says. She looks down at the floor, “And I don’t think my dad would let me.”
“I can buy you a dress,” Abigail says, “that’s no big deal.”
“My dad wouldn’t like me taking charity,” Lily replies, staring at her feet.
“You could wear one of my old ones,” Abigail offers, “I’m sure I have something that would fit. That wouldn’t be charity; after all, they’re just collecting dust.”
“I don’t think my dad would agree,” Lily states.
“Your dad works for Foster’s Mining Company, right,” Sarah asks. To which, Lily replies, “That’s right.”
“Well, what if Abigail’s dad invited him and his family,” Sarah suggests, “I doubt he’d be able to say no to that.”
“I guess,” Lily says. Her tone still seems unsure, but her head props up a little at the suggestion. Abigail, on the other hand, claps her hands together in approval, “That’s perfect, Sarah. I’ll ask my dad tonight.”
“Are you sure, tonight,” Sarah asks, “We get back our history exam today.”
“Oh,” Abigail says with a hint of worry, then with a burst of enthusiasm, she continues, “That’s perfect. He’ll be so delighted after seeing my good grade; he’ll have to say yes.”
“So, my fate rests on you getting a good grade,” Lily sighs. Abigail laughs, “It’ll be fine… fine, fine, fine.”
“Hey speaking of dads, is yours coming this year,” Abigail asks, looking at Sarah. Her voice is calm and reeks of concern. Sarah smiles and answers, “Oh, I don’t think he’ll be up to it.”
“How is he doing,” Lily asks. To which, Sarah lies, “Much better. He’s even started painting again.”
“That’s great,” Abigail says, “Maybe my family and I could come by and take a peek.”
“I don’t think so,” Sarah answers, “At least not yet, he’s still working through his depression. I think he’d feel uncomfortable around company.”
“Well, maybe just my dad could come and see him,” Abigail offers, “It’s been awhile since they last talked. Dad’s been worried about him.”
“Maybe,” Sarah answers, “Let’s talk about it later.”
“Yeah, okay,” Abigail accepts. The girls fall silence for a while. Eventually, Abigail starts asking Lily what kind of dresses she likes. The two talk as Sarah slowly fades into sleep. Lily wakes her with a gentle nudge when they reach the school.