Week #91: Snow
Title: White as Snow
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Kid!Matt, Kid!Near, Kid!Mello, and Kid!L
Warnings: Mild violence, little kids doing and saying some naughty things, and references to drug use and prostitution in one part.
Word Count: 2,579
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Ohba and Obata. Lyrics to "Snow (Hey Oh)" by Michael Balzary, John Frusciante, Anthony Kiedis, and Chad Smith. Lyrics from elyrics.net.
Author's Note: Songfic to "Snow (Hey Oh)" by The Red Hot Chili Peppers. This shows the four main Wammy Kids before they went to Wammy's House, some in more stable family situations and others not. Comments greatly appreciated.
White as Snow
Come to decide that the things that I tried
Were in my life just to get high on
When I sit alone come get a little known
But I need more than myself this time
Step from the road to the sea to the sky
And I do believe it, we rely on
When I lay it on come get to play it on
All my life to sacrifice
----------------------
He waited for the first major snowfall every year right down to watching Channel 20 storm coverage and The Weather Channel practically all night for snow totals and storm tracts. He would regularly open the window and get a glimpse at the clouds with his 20-year-old brother’s textbook for a Meteorology class he took in community college; these nimbostratus clouds would definitely produce something big.
Then the white gold would fall from the skies; a few flurries at first building into steady snow. It would made the driveway a grayish white, cover his brother’s pick-up, and soon the inches would pile up.
By the next morning, he was on his computer scouring all the local announcement boards. All Utica schools closed, but this was just the beginning.
Mail’s next routine was changing into sufficiently warm clothes, bundling up in a jacket and snow pants with his heavy-duty books, getting out his map of the neighborhood, and collecting his trusty aluminum shovel. Grandpa’s old aviator goggles form World War II were the next thing on. They were just plain neat, Grandpa gave them to him a few months before he died and no one seemed to mind him wearing them every day. They were excellent protection against snow glare.
Hillel was on duty today, the pick-up out of the driveway and a note on the table already headed with “Today, Mail will be…” It was a typical routine. Mail was nine-years-old and could take care of himself. Hillel trusted him, or rather he had better things to do than pick up after him.
Mail took out a pen and scribbled “cleaning up the neighborhood.”
He was soon out the door and getting to business, boots shuffling through the foot of snow that buried almost all of Upstate New York overnight. This snow accumulated in people’s driveways and walkways. People who didn’t have a snowblower wouldn’t want to shovel this themselves.
The Powell’s were first. Two knocks on the door and an elderly man poked his head out.
“Hi, I’m Mail Jeevas and I live next door. I was wondering if you needed your driveway cleaned out.”
Rod Powell’s response was a smile and pat on the head with a few rings of “you’re a good boy.” Mail would ask for $3 for the job, a fair arrangement.
Shovel came to snow and snow flew into neat piles on the side of the driveway and into the yard. Within an hour and a half only a thin coating of shoveled snow was left in the driveway and the steps and walkway were practically bare. He would even reach into their sand bin beside the house sprinkle on a few coffee cans worth down on the driveway and the steps.
He would be given his $3 with a warm smile before moving onto the next house.
The routine continued for the rest of the day. Most houses would be cleared and he would leave with another $3 in his hand, sometimes a whole $5 bill or sometimes a $10 if they wanted him to put a path around the house. Some people weren’t home. Some would yell at him to get off their property. Some would invite him in for cocoa though he always politely declined.
By sundown he would go back home with $80 in his hand.
He would always wait a few more snowfalls before going again, waiting another few months. The snow would melt the second week in April, a week after he set up his new PlayStation.
-----------
When will I know that I really can't go
To the well once more time to decide on
When it's killing me, when will I really see
All that I need to look inside
Come to believe that I better not leave
Before I get my chance to ride
When it's killing me, what do I really need
All that I need to look inside
------------
The crunch in the snow would be inevitable followed by Sister Agnes’ shrill laughter and giggles from several children.
“Wowee this is cold,” she practically squealed. “Now you move your arms and legs like this…”
She was spreading her snowsuit-encased arms and legs up and down. She would then hop up and all the kids would ooh and aw over the shape that kind of looked like an angel. She would usually make a lesson out of this; God made the snow and angels like to play in it, something like that.
Nate didn’t need to look over, he had seen her do the same thing every time she took the younger kids to the Common on a Sunday. He always found a nice quiet area by the gazebo to build snow castles to the sound of the laughs and screams from the nearby ice rink, or rather the bare space the Rochester Fire Department flooded every winter.
It was thankfully cloudy; the huge, boxy sunglasses the eye doctor had him wear outside were stuffed in the snow. He could see fine as long as his hood was pulled high enough.
“Hey Nate, we’re building a snowman,” Sister Agnes said. “Come join us.”
“No thank you,” he said, not looking up from the box of snow that would become the main tower.
“Okay, but you can come over here whenever you like.”
He wouldn’t. That was that.
Nate’s attention was now fully on the blank structure. Dark Ages France sounded good, he had just finished a book on their castle structures yesterday before it had to go back to the library.
“Hi, watcha making.”
Nate carved out one crenelation with a stick before looking up at his interruption. He had to squint a little to see through the brightness, though saw another boy about his age standing in front of him.
He noted his features and red coat before going back to his work.
“A castle,” he said.
His new visitor was sitting on the ground and watching. For some reason he didn’t say no hen asked if he needed help. Maybe he wanted to see where this would go; if this one wrecked his creation, he would make another. He did subject himself to a long stream of nonsense.
“My name’s Joey, I go to Chamberlain. My mom has me for the weekend so we’re staying here, which is pretty boring. Next weekend my dad’s taking me to Gunstock. I can go on the blue square slopes now, my dad’s been teaching me. He’s great, but my mom’s great too. My sister is kind of bossy but she’s going to the Middle School next year and I won’t have to deal with her. Do you skate? I made the hockey team this year, we’re getting really good…”
Nate continued making his castle, responding with the occasional “uh-huh” or “that’s neat” and watching him mutilate the back of the castle in an attempt to build a door. He did tell him his name, that he was home schooled, and wasn’t good at sports.
He stopped keeping track of how long Joey was there yammering on.
Finally a female voice called Joey’s name.
“Well that’s my sister,” Joey said. “See ya around, Nate.”
Nate looked up briefly to see Joey get up and scamper off toward a teenage girl in a pink coat.
“Don’t get too close to that one,” she said. “He’s one of those St. Charles kids; they get sent there when the state takes them from their parents. They’re all screwed up.”
Nate patched up his snow castle, though he had to pause for some reason.
-------------
The more I see, the less I know
The more I like to let it go
Hey oh, whoa
Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Privately divided by a world so undecided
And there's nowhere to go
In between the cover of another perfect wonder
And it's so white as snow
Running through a field where
all my tracks will be concealed
And there's nowhere to go
---------------
Those first few snowflakes made everything stop in its tracks.
A flurry would have no effect, a few showers were commonplace, but heavy snow cover would bring an eerie piece to everything. The clouds would come in off the Alps in the beginning of December, sometimes bringing nothing and sometimes burying everything.
It actually felt safe to go outside. The gangs would stay indoors to plan their next drug runs and would seem to take less interest in mugging people. The Polizei were more interested in keeping streets clear of cars and warn moped drivers against traveling in certain areas.
Mother would usually hole up at whatever drug den she passed out in the other night, possibly get some more money with a few extra tricks. Maybe she would actually use some of it for beef stew, she mentioned it as she stumbled out two days ago but it was a fool’s hope.
Munich belonged to Mihael now. He could walk down the street with a hand away from the knife in his pocket. The Tramway was crowded, yet no one bothered him. People would be too busy zipping their jackets and pushing through the crowd at the busiest stops to notice a little hand in their pocket slipping out a few loose Marks or, better yet, American dollars from their wallets.
No one noticed if a few BMW hood medallions went missing outside Marienplatz; stupid drivers shouldn’t have had their expensive cars out in this weather to begin with. They needed to learn a lesson somehow.
A few lost American skiers would need directions to the Mandarin or the Platzl Hotels and he would take a few dollars as payment. Mihael would use these few dollars for a few chocolate bars; the rest was going to put a few links of bratwurst in the tiny microwave that night.
Later in the day he made it a point to go to Englischer Garten; the city would always disappear somewhere along the path and only a wide field of snow and tufts of white trees would be around. The sun would set over the wide sky, turning it purple in the city lights. He would fine a bench and sit for an hour. Other seven-year-olds would be building a snowman or a small fort. That was kid stuff.
He would just pull back his hood and let the white flakes tangle in his long blond hair as the world ceased to exist.
Then he would have to get up, make a somber march back to the Tram, and pray that mother hadn’t come home yet.
----------
When to descend to amend for a friend
All the channels that have broken down
Now you bring it up, I'm gonna ring it up
Just to hear you sing it out
Step from the road to the sea to the sky
And I do believe what we rely on
When I lay it on, come get to play it on
All my life to sacrifice
-------------
It started with a few simple words from one of his brother Alonzo’s annoying little friends.
“Girls can’t throw snowballs.”
Sure enough his sister got involved, throwing the gauntlet (or rather the brown and pink striped mitten).
“You’re gonna wish you never said that,” followed.
“Wahh is the little girl gonna cry,” was inevitable.
“Don’t get her going Kyle, she can get mean, ” was also expected from Alonzo, though it was more of a challenge than a warning.
Liam kept half an ear on the exchange while digging out a small fort from the snow that had accumulated on the side of the trailer. His careful study of the pressure needed to dig to cause some melting that would reinforce the walls when it refroze was accompanied by various taunts a few meters over.
Somehow it lead to a different turn:
“You’re so weak my little brother could kick your ass.”
Five-years-old didn’t mean clueless and Liam hid wide-eyed expression in his snow hole.
Sure enough Sharona at the mature age of eight later grabbed his green-mittened hand and pulled him aside to talk strategy. The words “do you want to do this” were never spoken, instead it was “we’re going to bet those apes, Liam. You‘re the best snowball maker I know.”
He could have protested if he wanted to and he could have gone next door to grab dad from the neighbors to back him up. He didn’t though. Liam went along with it for some reason.
The battle was set an hour from then. Strategy and weapon production was simple. Sharona built the fort, or rather the short wall of dug up snow. Liam pressed together a near endless number of snowballs; some built to splatter on impact and some hard ones to do more damage. It was a matter of judging the pressure needed to create them, he had been experimenting quite a bit.
One hour later lines formed on two sides, one snow fort built for the older boys, another for the girl and younger boy.
There was no warning before all hell unleashed. The two boys wailed their huge snowballs, Alonzo periodically having to push his huge glasses back on his nose with a mitten coated in snow. Liam built stores, Sharona threw at a volume that rivaled the boys.
They paused for a moment at the call of “Car!“ when a car passed or “Cop!“ when Leduc RCMP did their usual sweep of the less-than-reputable neighborhood. The second an all clear was called, the hail of snowballs would resume.
At last Liam got to the front of the fort with the equivalent of a grenade. A little arm made a lucky throw, the snowball burst on top of the rival fort sending a hail of ice shards all over.
The other boy grabbed the side of his face and fell to the ground crying just as Dad came out of the Rodriguez’ tool shed and heard the wails. The battle was over.
Kyle picked himself up from the ground and Dad brought him into the house. It ended up being a flesh wound, Dad took a look at it in the bathroom and gave the kid a Band-Aid with a stern warning to all of them against throwing ice balls.
No one said who threw that ball; no one seemed interested in getting a little kid in trouble.
A truce was declared over pre-packaged cocoa with little marshmallows. Liam licked off his top layer of marshmallows feeling all eyes on him in some sort of kid respect.
He actually kind of liked it.
---------
Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Privately divided by a world so undecided
And there's nowhere to go
In between the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Running through the field where all
my tracks will be concealed
And there's nowhere to go
Red Hot Chili Peppers- Snow (Hey Oh)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Kid!Matt, Kid!Near, Kid!Mello, and Kid!L
Warnings: Mild violence, little kids doing and saying some naughty things, and references to drug use and prostitution in one part.
Word Count: 2,579
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Ohba and Obata. Lyrics to "Snow (Hey Oh)" by Michael Balzary, John Frusciante, Anthony Kiedis, and Chad Smith. Lyrics from elyrics.net.
Author's Note: Songfic to "Snow (Hey Oh)" by The Red Hot Chili Peppers. This shows the four main Wammy Kids before they went to Wammy's House, some in more stable family situations and others not. Comments greatly appreciated.
White as Snow
Come to decide that the things that I tried
Were in my life just to get high on
When I sit alone come get a little known
But I need more than myself this time
Step from the road to the sea to the sky
And I do believe it, we rely on
When I lay it on come get to play it on
All my life to sacrifice
----------------------
He waited for the first major snowfall every year right down to watching Channel 20 storm coverage and The Weather Channel practically all night for snow totals and storm tracts. He would regularly open the window and get a glimpse at the clouds with his 20-year-old brother’s textbook for a Meteorology class he took in community college; these nimbostratus clouds would definitely produce something big.
Then the white gold would fall from the skies; a few flurries at first building into steady snow. It would made the driveway a grayish white, cover his brother’s pick-up, and soon the inches would pile up.
By the next morning, he was on his computer scouring all the local announcement boards. All Utica schools closed, but this was just the beginning.
Mail’s next routine was changing into sufficiently warm clothes, bundling up in a jacket and snow pants with his heavy-duty books, getting out his map of the neighborhood, and collecting his trusty aluminum shovel. Grandpa’s old aviator goggles form World War II were the next thing on. They were just plain neat, Grandpa gave them to him a few months before he died and no one seemed to mind him wearing them every day. They were excellent protection against snow glare.
Hillel was on duty today, the pick-up out of the driveway and a note on the table already headed with “Today, Mail will be…” It was a typical routine. Mail was nine-years-old and could take care of himself. Hillel trusted him, or rather he had better things to do than pick up after him.
Mail took out a pen and scribbled “cleaning up the neighborhood.”
He was soon out the door and getting to business, boots shuffling through the foot of snow that buried almost all of Upstate New York overnight. This snow accumulated in people’s driveways and walkways. People who didn’t have a snowblower wouldn’t want to shovel this themselves.
The Powell’s were first. Two knocks on the door and an elderly man poked his head out.
“Hi, I’m Mail Jeevas and I live next door. I was wondering if you needed your driveway cleaned out.”
Rod Powell’s response was a smile and pat on the head with a few rings of “you’re a good boy.” Mail would ask for $3 for the job, a fair arrangement.
Shovel came to snow and snow flew into neat piles on the side of the driveway and into the yard. Within an hour and a half only a thin coating of shoveled snow was left in the driveway and the steps and walkway were practically bare. He would even reach into their sand bin beside the house sprinkle on a few coffee cans worth down on the driveway and the steps.
He would be given his $3 with a warm smile before moving onto the next house.
The routine continued for the rest of the day. Most houses would be cleared and he would leave with another $3 in his hand, sometimes a whole $5 bill or sometimes a $10 if they wanted him to put a path around the house. Some people weren’t home. Some would yell at him to get off their property. Some would invite him in for cocoa though he always politely declined.
By sundown he would go back home with $80 in his hand.
He would always wait a few more snowfalls before going again, waiting another few months. The snow would melt the second week in April, a week after he set up his new PlayStation.
-----------
When will I know that I really can't go
To the well once more time to decide on
When it's killing me, when will I really see
All that I need to look inside
Come to believe that I better not leave
Before I get my chance to ride
When it's killing me, what do I really need
All that I need to look inside
------------
The crunch in the snow would be inevitable followed by Sister Agnes’ shrill laughter and giggles from several children.
“Wowee this is cold,” she practically squealed. “Now you move your arms and legs like this…”
She was spreading her snowsuit-encased arms and legs up and down. She would then hop up and all the kids would ooh and aw over the shape that kind of looked like an angel. She would usually make a lesson out of this; God made the snow and angels like to play in it, something like that.
Nate didn’t need to look over, he had seen her do the same thing every time she took the younger kids to the Common on a Sunday. He always found a nice quiet area by the gazebo to build snow castles to the sound of the laughs and screams from the nearby ice rink, or rather the bare space the Rochester Fire Department flooded every winter.
It was thankfully cloudy; the huge, boxy sunglasses the eye doctor had him wear outside were stuffed in the snow. He could see fine as long as his hood was pulled high enough.
“Hey Nate, we’re building a snowman,” Sister Agnes said. “Come join us.”
“No thank you,” he said, not looking up from the box of snow that would become the main tower.
“Okay, but you can come over here whenever you like.”
He wouldn’t. That was that.
Nate’s attention was now fully on the blank structure. Dark Ages France sounded good, he had just finished a book on their castle structures yesterday before it had to go back to the library.
“Hi, watcha making.”
Nate carved out one crenelation with a stick before looking up at his interruption. He had to squint a little to see through the brightness, though saw another boy about his age standing in front of him.
He noted his features and red coat before going back to his work.
“A castle,” he said.
His new visitor was sitting on the ground and watching. For some reason he didn’t say no hen asked if he needed help. Maybe he wanted to see where this would go; if this one wrecked his creation, he would make another. He did subject himself to a long stream of nonsense.
“My name’s Joey, I go to Chamberlain. My mom has me for the weekend so we’re staying here, which is pretty boring. Next weekend my dad’s taking me to Gunstock. I can go on the blue square slopes now, my dad’s been teaching me. He’s great, but my mom’s great too. My sister is kind of bossy but she’s going to the Middle School next year and I won’t have to deal with her. Do you skate? I made the hockey team this year, we’re getting really good…”
Nate continued making his castle, responding with the occasional “uh-huh” or “that’s neat” and watching him mutilate the back of the castle in an attempt to build a door. He did tell him his name, that he was home schooled, and wasn’t good at sports.
He stopped keeping track of how long Joey was there yammering on.
Finally a female voice called Joey’s name.
“Well that’s my sister,” Joey said. “See ya around, Nate.”
Nate looked up briefly to see Joey get up and scamper off toward a teenage girl in a pink coat.
“Don’t get too close to that one,” she said. “He’s one of those St. Charles kids; they get sent there when the state takes them from their parents. They’re all screwed up.”
Nate patched up his snow castle, though he had to pause for some reason.
-------------
The more I see, the less I know
The more I like to let it go
Hey oh, whoa
Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Privately divided by a world so undecided
And there's nowhere to go
In between the cover of another perfect wonder
And it's so white as snow
Running through a field where
all my tracks will be concealed
And there's nowhere to go
---------------
Those first few snowflakes made everything stop in its tracks.
A flurry would have no effect, a few showers were commonplace, but heavy snow cover would bring an eerie piece to everything. The clouds would come in off the Alps in the beginning of December, sometimes bringing nothing and sometimes burying everything.
It actually felt safe to go outside. The gangs would stay indoors to plan their next drug runs and would seem to take less interest in mugging people. The Polizei were more interested in keeping streets clear of cars and warn moped drivers against traveling in certain areas.
Mother would usually hole up at whatever drug den she passed out in the other night, possibly get some more money with a few extra tricks. Maybe she would actually use some of it for beef stew, she mentioned it as she stumbled out two days ago but it was a fool’s hope.
Munich belonged to Mihael now. He could walk down the street with a hand away from the knife in his pocket. The Tramway was crowded, yet no one bothered him. People would be too busy zipping their jackets and pushing through the crowd at the busiest stops to notice a little hand in their pocket slipping out a few loose Marks or, better yet, American dollars from their wallets.
No one noticed if a few BMW hood medallions went missing outside Marienplatz; stupid drivers shouldn’t have had their expensive cars out in this weather to begin with. They needed to learn a lesson somehow.
A few lost American skiers would need directions to the Mandarin or the Platzl Hotels and he would take a few dollars as payment. Mihael would use these few dollars for a few chocolate bars; the rest was going to put a few links of bratwurst in the tiny microwave that night.
Later in the day he made it a point to go to Englischer Garten; the city would always disappear somewhere along the path and only a wide field of snow and tufts of white trees would be around. The sun would set over the wide sky, turning it purple in the city lights. He would fine a bench and sit for an hour. Other seven-year-olds would be building a snowman or a small fort. That was kid stuff.
He would just pull back his hood and let the white flakes tangle in his long blond hair as the world ceased to exist.
Then he would have to get up, make a somber march back to the Tram, and pray that mother hadn’t come home yet.
----------
When to descend to amend for a friend
All the channels that have broken down
Now you bring it up, I'm gonna ring it up
Just to hear you sing it out
Step from the road to the sea to the sky
And I do believe what we rely on
When I lay it on, come get to play it on
All my life to sacrifice
-------------
It started with a few simple words from one of his brother Alonzo’s annoying little friends.
“Girls can’t throw snowballs.”
Sure enough his sister got involved, throwing the gauntlet (or rather the brown and pink striped mitten).
“You’re gonna wish you never said that,” followed.
“Wahh is the little girl gonna cry,” was inevitable.
“Don’t get her going Kyle, she can get mean, ” was also expected from Alonzo, though it was more of a challenge than a warning.
Liam kept half an ear on the exchange while digging out a small fort from the snow that had accumulated on the side of the trailer. His careful study of the pressure needed to dig to cause some melting that would reinforce the walls when it refroze was accompanied by various taunts a few meters over.
Somehow it lead to a different turn:
“You’re so weak my little brother could kick your ass.”
Five-years-old didn’t mean clueless and Liam hid wide-eyed expression in his snow hole.
Sure enough Sharona at the mature age of eight later grabbed his green-mittened hand and pulled him aside to talk strategy. The words “do you want to do this” were never spoken, instead it was “we’re going to bet those apes, Liam. You‘re the best snowball maker I know.”
He could have protested if he wanted to and he could have gone next door to grab dad from the neighbors to back him up. He didn’t though. Liam went along with it for some reason.
The battle was set an hour from then. Strategy and weapon production was simple. Sharona built the fort, or rather the short wall of dug up snow. Liam pressed together a near endless number of snowballs; some built to splatter on impact and some hard ones to do more damage. It was a matter of judging the pressure needed to create them, he had been experimenting quite a bit.
One hour later lines formed on two sides, one snow fort built for the older boys, another for the girl and younger boy.
There was no warning before all hell unleashed. The two boys wailed their huge snowballs, Alonzo periodically having to push his huge glasses back on his nose with a mitten coated in snow. Liam built stores, Sharona threw at a volume that rivaled the boys.
They paused for a moment at the call of “Car!“ when a car passed or “Cop!“ when Leduc RCMP did their usual sweep of the less-than-reputable neighborhood. The second an all clear was called, the hail of snowballs would resume.
At last Liam got to the front of the fort with the equivalent of a grenade. A little arm made a lucky throw, the snowball burst on top of the rival fort sending a hail of ice shards all over.
The other boy grabbed the side of his face and fell to the ground crying just as Dad came out of the Rodriguez’ tool shed and heard the wails. The battle was over.
Kyle picked himself up from the ground and Dad brought him into the house. It ended up being a flesh wound, Dad took a look at it in the bathroom and gave the kid a Band-Aid with a stern warning to all of them against throwing ice balls.
No one said who threw that ball; no one seemed interested in getting a little kid in trouble.
A truce was declared over pre-packaged cocoa with little marshmallows. Liam licked off his top layer of marshmallows feeling all eyes on him in some sort of kid respect.
He actually kind of liked it.
---------
Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Privately divided by a world so undecided
And there's nowhere to go
In between the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Running through the field where all
my tracks will be concealed
And there's nowhere to go
Red Hot Chili Peppers- Snow (Hey Oh)