A memory I have as a child was of the snow at Christmas time. The snow was always a powdered white, and the sun shone through it, expelling wonders of colours. The trees, although were dull, were brought to life by the snow’s beauty. Even the buildings seemed to be full of life. The sky was always awake, at day or night. With the sun so radiant, and the moon shining bright. The stars seemed to replace the twinkling that the sun gave the snow during the day, tempting us to stay up, instead of going into a slumber. Everything about it was perfect and pure, so innocent, so sweet.
Now that I am older, I see the world in a different light. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s the atmosphere surrounding us, maybe it’s just the sense that something, something not right. The snow rests peacefully on the ground, but it is tough, hard like a stone. It is no longer a whitened powder. I can no longer see the sun’s rays reflecting off of the snow and shining beams of colourful light to bring forth joy to its environment. The buildings, no longer tall and proud of their colour and mighty structure, sit in silence. No noise is heard. No longer are children’s laughter heard throughout all of the streets. No longer can you observe the excited mothers discussing Christmas dinner and giggling as if they were still young, naïve teenagers. No longer are the fathers seen, greeting each other down the street with the shake of a hand, and a nod of the head. Everything is silent and still. The fog hiding the unknown blue sky and radiant sun, grows deeper, and thicker, making it difficult to determine where the snow ends and the fog starts. Everything is non-existent, no one is here. It is deserted.