Dec 12, 2007 12:04
I remember snow. I remember it fairly well, actually; even towards the beginning of the end, as the greenhouse started to run away with us, Boston got a flurry or two. Even as an increasingly ashamed populace tried to pretend that maybe it had never been there at all, I remembered it. So clean and white and quiet, with almost a sweet taste on the tongue.
I never thought I would see another snowfall, not even after I arrived here, but whatever god rules this place is sometimes good. I've found warm clothes from the box downstairs, and my crudely constructed shelter has turned into a little cabin, very rough but more than enough for me. The snow is here and I'm outside in it, where I've been often the last few days. At first I had just walked, but now I feel the need to do something further.
I only ever did this with Roberta once. We only ever had enough snow for it in one magical winter. But I remember how, and I can think of her without pain as I start to pack the snow into a ball.
I have an extra scarf and hat with me. No carrot, but a rock will do. I am doing this for no one but me, and it doesn't feel selfish in the slightest.
[ooc: prophet making a snowman. come help!]
john of boston,
neville longbottom,
calvin o'keefe