The Birth Of A Snowman

Clearly off-balance, he sits down on the sidewalk and glances around. There’s no one there, at all.

At three in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, and in a very dangerous drunken stupor, the boy stares at the sky. “Oh, how long will it take for me to join you there, my love?”, he whispers. He shivers, realizing he’s very cold, and that the empty bottle of whiskey in his hands does very little to make his body warm. He gets up and starts to move away.

The houses here are silent. No one watches him pass by, stumbling on his feet, falling a few times, and moaning in pain, the invincible pain the alcohol couldn’t kill. He feels safe to weep when he’s all alone, but he was never able to shed a single tear about her death. There was only the exasperating pain in his chest, and the lack of energy to do anything but breathe.

Yet he does it. He breathes. He keeps on trying to survive, in this train wreck city. He daily washed the bloodbath of his life without the one who made him see what life was all about. He fights, even though he doesn’t have a clue what for. “Must be human nature, this desire to keep wanting to live, no matter how miserable your life is”, he whispers.

He takes a right turn at the end of the street and walks into the rest of what’s left of his lifespan.