Memoirs of a Snowflake

I was walking around outside in the snow today, and I had this great idea for a really short story! So, when I got a chance, I sat down and wrote it. It’s really short–983 words–but I kind of like it. It’s the story of a life of a snowflake. I shared the idea with a couple of my friends, and one of them also decided to pick it up and do something with it. I’ll link to her blog once hers is up.

So, without further ado, enjoy!

UPDATE: Here is the link to my friend’s take on this same theme.  She took it in a completely different direction, and it’s pretty interesting!

Memoirs of a Snowflake

In the moment before my first memory, I feel a wonderful lightness, a floating sensation that isn’t truly a sensation because I don’t yet know who I am or that I am. But then I feel a coming together, a sense of going that is my becoming, my awakening. And that is my first memory.

Childlike curiosity drives me to explore myself. I can feel my lightness, an awareness that I am floating in a sea of white. It feels familiar and comforting. I can also feel my body growing. Delicate tendrils of ice grow in beautiful, unique patterns from the tiny part of me that was my beginning, and I take joy and fascination in learning and becoming aware of myself.

I feel the presence of many brothers and sisters. We are all growing, all newly self-aware, and all around is the soothing presence of our cloud-mother. She tells us that she is happy and proud of us. We are hers and feel at home with her.

You are growing very well, she tells us. Soon it will be time to leave for the world below. We are afraid to leave her because she is our home, our mother. Don’t be afraid, she tells us. Every end is a beginning. You lived before you came to me and you will return here after your time below is through. You have no memories of any time before or after, but you have lived from eternity before and will live for eternity after. Every death gives way to a new rebirth. The words of our mother-cloud comfort us and give us courage.

Soon, the time comes. We begin our gradual descent together, millions and millions of brothers and sisters. Staying close together helps us not to be afraid. Soon, our mother is far above us, still bidding us a loving farewell.

When she is gone, we are alone in a sea of white, not knowing whether we are going up or down. It is silent all around us. To lift the silence some of us begin to sing. They are silent songs of thoughts. We sing of our mother and our brothers and sisters, of our anticipation for the world awaiting us below. What will we find? We join together to sing in unison, and our thought-song grows more and more intricate and beautiful, like the unique patterns of ice that make us who we are. We sing and travel together, following each other, but each one of us is truly unique and adds something to the thought-song to make it rich and beautiful.

We float like this for a very long time. Soon, we feel confident and happy in ourselves. We miss our mother, but we are ready and excited to meet our new lives in the world below. After a little more time, we begin to see shapes in the whiteness: outlines that gradually become clearer and more distinct as we continue our descent. We have arrived.

Suddenly, we feel the presence of millions and millions more of our brothers and sisters. They are the ones who came before us. We greet them with joy and ask how they are doing.

Some of them return our greetings with great joy and welcome us down. They say that they are quite comfortable and have a marvelous view of the world around them. They describe it to us, a world of trees and streets, cars and people, and their descriptions fill us with wonder. We look for ourselves, for the shapes are much clearer to us now, and watch them for ourselves.

Many others say that they are doing quite fine, but that we shouldn’t think too much on the strange new things of this world. After all, they say, when we arrived we had a view of these things for a short time, but soon were covered by the others until we couldn’t see anything. But there is nothing to worry. It is quite cozy and comfortable, and you will never feel alone.

Others, though, give us dire warnings. Watch out! they say. Take care! These strange things that you see are not just idle curiosities. They can cause pain! When one of them steps on you, it drives you together so hard that your beautiful bodies break and you can hardly tell yourself from one another! And heaven help you if you land in the street! Instead of the unique and beautiful patterns you were born with, you will die embedded with dirt and oil and grime!

Still others look at us as if we are mere children. Just wait, they say. You will see what it is truly like down here. When the mother-cloud stops sending her children and the sun rises bright in the sky, you will hear the slow sound of death and the pain of losing your beautiful individuality in a sea of painful monotony. If you don’t die, you will merge together until your bodies become one sheet of transparent glass, your uniqueness lost except in memory. In this way, your days will drag out until you die and are forgotten.

Many of us don’t know what to think of these views. I don’t know what to think about it. But then I remember the words of our mother-cloud. Every end is a beginning. You have no memories of any time before or after, but you have lived from eternity before and will live for eternity after.

I look down and see a figure below me: a human. She is a young girl. She sticks out her tongue and I drift lazily towards it. But as I descend gradually towards her open mouth, I am not afraid. Every death gives way to a new rebirth, and I am ready to peacefully face whatever meets me, because I know that I have always been and always will be.