Snow

Snow

Snow is pure and innocent, they say. They speak of its ability to float gently from the sky like an angel, they tell of its tranquil feel and its awesome beauty as if they worshipped the snow. And they do. They worship the small bits of frozen water for what they call its ‘beauty’. Of course the way they judge the snows beauty is by comparing it to the harshness of the ice that surrounds their world. The ice with its cutting edges, its depressing colors, and its thirst to cover all that lay in front of it make it the most hideous thing on the earth, so they say. 

They call the blankets of snow their savior, the only reason they can survive in the barren wasteland they are in is because of the snow which brings them various creatures to prey on, they say. The people have long forgotten the thick plates of ice deep below the fluffy fields, the ice that they hate, the ice that allows them to live on it. 

They say the ice exists only to compliment the snow, that the snows duty is to cover up the evil that the ice creates. With tongues of fire they condemn the ice for bringing misfortune upon their homes, and when something of great celebration occurs, the people thank the snow for blessing them. The people treat the ice as their underling, nothing but trash in the face of their beautiful snow. 

What the people cannot, and will not see, is the snows true colors. War and bloodshed, delicately preserved under layer upon layer of frost, the bodies untouched, the blood as scarlet as the day it was shed. The countless amounts of souls lost in the horrible snowstorms in late winter still linger in the cold, preying on anybody foolish enough to venture that far out. The snow only exists to cover up the cruel and gruesome world, waiting for the day when the ice will finally disappear and it can show what its been hiding all along. 

Sadly the people will never see such horrors in the snow, they will only see it in the ice. For who can see such colors when they look at something so white and pure as snow?