[[You are alive.]]
You don’t know what that means, but you know it’s the opposite of what you just were, which was nothing. In the distance, you see tall buildings against a frosted sky. Directly in front, children surround you, pointing and squealing with glee. It worked, they say. [[Oh my goodness, he’s alive.]]
“Holy fuck,” you say. You look down and see two big lumps of something white and soft and cold, and as you turn they turn, and you realize that this is your body. You prod at your snowy stomach with an arm made of twigs. You feel your face, the thin wood of your not-quite-fingers running over a little black button and a corncob pipe.
You realize your head feels warm. You reach up and feel a hat. A black, felt top hat.
“Oh god jesus fuck,” you say, wanting to escape from the cold confines of your amateurishly made body. “What the fuck is this.”
“You’re real,” the children exclaim with glee. “We put a magic hat upon your head and you came to life.” Their smiles are big, their eyes twinkling.
[[“Why,” you ask.]]
They shrug and grab you by the hands.
“Let’s play!”
You spend the day ice skating and throwing snowballs and asking yourself for what reason your consciousness was drudged up from the gutters of oblivion.
“That was fun,” the kids say as they begin to amble home. “We’ll see you next year.”
“What,” you ask. “What am I supposed to do until then? Do I just wait here?”
[[They laugh and shrug and run away as the sun sets.]]
The cold shouldn’t bother you seeing as you’re made of snow, but it absolutely does. You wrap your twigs around your midsection and wait.
Eventually, the sun begins its slow climb back into the sky and you feel warm again. Perhaps this is why you exist, you think -- to experience camaraderie, and then loneliness, and then to find peace within yourself. To realize, as the sun appears once again, that there will always be another [[sunrise.]]
You try to smile, only to feel yourself frowning. The sides of your mouth droop lower and lower and you try to push them back up, but your arms are sagging too. Your button nose falls off your face and your confusion is replaced with pain. The solid parts of you are turning liquid, and it hurts, and you are alone, and you shout to the kids for help but they’re warm at home and they can’t hear you, or maybe they can but they don’t care, but your head is growing soft and you feel the hat [[slipping off your hea]]
[[There]]
[[Is]]
[[Nothing]]
[[Not]]
[[Even]]
[[Black]]
[[You]]
[[Feel]]
[[Only]]
[[The]]
[[Passing]]
[[Of]]
[[Time]]
[[And]]
[[A]]
[[Year]]
[[Goes]]
[[By]]
[[And|and2]]
[[You|you2]]
[[Feel|feel2]]
[[Every]]
[[Moment]]
[[In]]
[[Slow]]
[[Motion]]
[[And|and3]]
[[You|you3]]
[[Would]]
[[Wish]]
[[To]]
[[Scream]]
[[Were]]
[[You|you4]]
[[Capable]]
[[Of|of2]]
[[Screaming]]
[[Or]]
[[Wishing]]
[[Until]]
[[One]]
[[Day]]
You’re awake again and you see the children again and they’re laughing again but something is different, they’re bigger, and you don’t quite feel the same, it’s your nose, it’s long and orange and it stings from the cold.
“You’re back,” the children chirp. “Play with us some more!”
“No,” you say, and you feel as if you are going to burst, and you wish you could cry but your eyes are only made of dark black rocks so you cannot. “Do you know what you did to me,” you ask.
[[They shrug.]]
“There was nothing,” you say as you grab the sides of your head. “But I felt every moment. I can’t go back to that.”
“But that’s the way of Christmas,” the kids say. “We wish it could be Christmas every day, too, but --”
“--Fucking listen to me,” you say. “You made me. This is your fault. It wasn’t so bad before you put the hat on for the first time cause I didn’t have anything to compare the nothing to, but now I’ve got this -- I’ve got the playing and the sun and the cold and I don’t really like it at all but it’s better than the nothing. So you have to fix this. I’m not melting again.”
The children stop laughing and one of them, a little girl, steps forward.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know. We just thought it would be fun. [[But I think I have an idea.”]]
And that night, as the sun sets, the little girl leads you back to her father’s workplace where dead animals hang from hooks. The smell makes you want to rip your carrot nose off, so you do.
She opens the door to a small, but very cold room.
“You can stay in here and you’ll never melt,” she says. “I think I can convince my dad to let you stay.”
[[She locks you inside and tells you to stay quiet and perfectly still if anyone ever comes in. ]]
You spend weeks hidden there, staring at the dead, hanging pigs and the sides of beef. You silently name them and pretend to talk to them, but eventually the girl’s father comes in and, pausing only to regard you with an irritated eye, grabs one of your silent friends and takes them away. You never see them again.
You are incredibly bored. Bored beyond words. [[But it is preferable to the slow nothing.]]
You sing to yourself to pass the time. You don’t know any songs, really, so you just sort of make random high and low pitched noises. Over the course of months, and always being careful to wait until the lights shut off and the girl’s father goes home for the night, you experiment with different combinations of noises until you find one you prefer above all others. You sing it to yourself over and over and when you get bored of it, you just experiment and find a new combination of notes.
Months later, though, even that gets boring -- there are only so many notes a single voice can make, and it occurs to you that it would be nice to harmonize with someone. It is only then that it occurs to you that the little girl who led you to this freezer has [[never once come to visit you.]]
You spend a month wondering why. Why is it that every day you see the face of her father, who looks at you with nothing but irritation, but you never see her? She seemed to like you -- after all, she snuck you in here and must regularly beg her father for permission to keep you here -- but she never visits. Is never eager to play around in the snow with you again. Is she being careful? Is she protecting you? Is she simply too busy with whatever it is she does when you’re not around?
[[You do not get a chance to find out.]]
One day, her father comes in to take away a side of lamb. He looks more tired than usual. His hair is messy and his eyes are wide with anger. He looks at you, and you stare straight forward like you always do. Without saying a word, he [[punches you in the face.]]
One of your eyes tumbles off and you want to scream, but you know you shouldn’t. He punches you again, and again, and again, and you want to ask him to stop but you believe that maybe [[she’ll come in,]]
maybe she’ll grab his hand and [[stop him]]
and the pain will [[go away,]]
but she doesn’t show up, it's just you and him, and he reaches up and tips the hat off your [[hea]]
[[The|the2]]
[[Nothing|nothing2]]
[[And|and4]]
[[The|the3]]
[[Silence]]
[[Last]]
[[Forever]]
[[But]]
[[In|in2]]
[[One|one2]]
[[Moment|moment2]]
[[Out]]
[[Of|of3]]
[[Trillions]]
[[There|there2]]
[[Is|is2]]
[[A|a2]]
[[Rumble]]
[[And|and5]]
[[Pain]]
[[Not|not2]]
[[Yours]]
[[But|but2]]
[[The|the4]]
[[Pain|pain2]]
[[Of|of4]]
[[Others]]
[[Nearly]]
[[Infinite]]
[[In|in3]]
[[Magnitude]]
[[And|and6]]
[[Then|then56]]
You are awake again and everything feels wrong. The world is almost as quiet as it was when you were in the nothing. There are no children. There are still buildings in the distance, but they look wrong. Broken, burned, collapsed.
Around you are the burnt husks of cars, machinery, and [[people.]]
[[“She’s gone, just in case you were wondering,” a voice says.]]
You turn and see an old man with slick grey hair and a large black patch covering one eye. He fills you with suspicion, but his sad smile seems warm and genuine.
“Her father is gone, and she’s gone, and even her children and her children’s children are gone. You’ve been away for some time,” he says.
“Where did they go,” you ask.
“Not sure. If I were to bet -- and I love to bet -- I’d say they go to the same place you do when [[that hat leaves your head.”]]
“I didn’t see them,” you say.
You suddenly feel very sad that you won’t see the girl anymore. You’re even sad that you won’t see her father, even though he killed you. You again feel that bursting feeling inside of you that makes you want to cry, except you don’t really know what crying is.
“Yes, well,” the man says. [[“I don’t think that’s how it works.”]]
He stares at you for a moment, still smiling his sad smile.
“It’s Christmas,” he says.
You nod, even though [[you don’t know what that means.]]
“I brought you something.” He produces a box wrapped with green paper, tied off with a red bow.
You reach out to take it. He raises a finger to stop you.
[[“But this gift is not so easily received.]]
You must be sure that it is what you want. Inside this box is a friend. A friend for you. He will never melt -- and more than that, he will ensure you never melt, either. I cannot promise that he will be with you forever, but I can promise that he will be alive for a very, very long time.”
You reach out again, nodding. [[You have never wanted anything so badly in all your life.]]
“There may be consequences,” the one-eyed man says. “I cannot say for certain what they are, but you will be giving the gift of life to this friend -- the same gift that was given to you when those children first sculpted you out of snow and topped you with that ragged hat that now splits at the seams.
“And that gift naturally comes with a cost. You, of all people, should know that.”
[[You let your arms fall to your side. You understand what he means.]]
[[“Or, I could take that hat off your head and burn it,” he says, snapping his fingers and conjuring an orb of flame. ]]
“You would go back to the nothing, forever. But things would be simpler. After a time, perhaps you would grow used to it. Maybe even enjoy it. At the very least, it would be consistent. No ups and downs. No friends gained and lost. [[No pain.”]]
He holds the gift out in one hand, and fire in the other. The two of you sit there silently for a moment.
“What do you get out of this,” you ask him.
He laughs, but merely pushes his arms out even further.
“The choice is yours.”
[[You extend your hand and grab the flame.]]
Or,
[[You take the gift.]]
With a flash and a pop, your arm catches fire. It does not hurt, though: as it slowly travels up your arm, you find that you feel truly warm for the [[first time in your life.]]
The man nods and sighs, almost disappointed. He hands you the gift.
[[You rip the wrapping paper off and yank away the lid.]]
You feel your body melting away and you become smaller and smaller as you look up at the eyepatched man who grows larger and larger, [[smiling down at you.]]
You feel your mouth fall away and it is a relief, like you’ve shrugged off a great weight, and then your black coal eyes catch fire and it’s like they are open for the first time, and you feel the flames lick upward and engulf your hat, [[and|ending1]]
Inside, a wooden soldier with horrific proportions looks up at you.
“A nutcracker,” the man says. “Watch.”
He ties a pink ribbon around it. The nutcracker stirs, and then leaps to its feet. It jumps out of the box and looks up at you.
It cannot speak, but you can tell that it loves you. It dances around your body with a grace and beauty that you’ve never seen before, and now you *really* wish you could cry, because it is so gorgeous [[you don’t know what else to do.]]
It crawls up to your shoulder and pats you on the side of the head, and you feel his touch spread all across your body like a warm blanket. The sun breaks through the clouds and hits you but you don’t feel pain, or warmth -- you are protected. He has protected you.
And you know he will be here for you, always.
You turn to thank the man with the eye patch, but he is gone, and you find that you do not care. For you now have a friend, and [[everything is perfect.]]
[[You do not know]] that one day he will grow tired of you.
[[You do not know|youdontknow2]] that he will begin to resent the fact that he must always be by your side, that he will learn to despise the way you cannot cry, or the way your misshapen body ambles along the wasteland while he leaps and pirouettes like an angel.
[[You do not know|dontknow3]] that he will feel confusion and anger at his existence just as you did, and that he will realize his only reason for being is to accompany you.
[[You do not know|dontknow4]] that he will grow furious at the existence that was forced upon him without his consent, and you do not know that one day he will leave you even though he promised that is the one thing he would never do, and that by leaving you he would give you the gift of true loneliness, that having been in his presence and his light that you now know what it is to really be on your own, and you do not know that you will miss the time before you met him just like you miss the time before the children created you, because back then you had nothing to compare your experiences to.
[[You do not know|dontknow5]] that you will wander the world alone for a very long time and you will, by chance, occasionally bump into him again and fall in love all over again and things will be perfect and warm and safe and the two of you will stay together and swear that this time things will be different until, inevitably, they aren’t, and you diverge paths once more for hundreds of years until the cycle repeats itself again.
Because you do not know this, you are happy.
[[So, so happy.]]
And for right now, on Christmas, maybe that is enough.