The Last Snow

The deep vale below was under a frosty brumal snow as cold gusts of icy ice caressed my cheeks. The sky was a deep hue of electric blue as beams of pristine orange light slowly peeked out from the saddle between two ridges. The scent of pine invaded my nostrils as my feet were numb with the cold sensation. The frozen blades of grass crunched under my foots as my breath solidified into visible mist. The jagged peak of this mountain had housed a mythical monk’s house. The natives had propagated the urban legend that any visitor who can surpass all the perilous obstacles may be bestowed with a wish. This piqued my curiosity to trundled through the snow-capped slopes. The sun bloomed the morning sky into a warm ocean of orange and warmth as the dark outlines of a house emerged from the undulating snow cover ahead. The house was alike an old shed with a blistered door as the window, with a lost pane of glass, let in adequate light to illuminate the dusty interiors.

Feeble whispering echoed and reverberated as I approached the rundown and ramshackle shed. As I leaned against the dilapidated structure, close to the window, I kept my bag down, holding my hiking pole in a tight grasp in a defending stance. I peeked into the musky smelling room as small drops of water pelted on the murky floor. A nine-year-old boy laid inside on an old dull hand-woven crimson carpet with blue tassels. At the farther end of the room was a barren stone counter with a crooked kettle and broken tea cups were tossed carelessly on the granite surface. The boy was frail with his wrinkled skin wrapped round his bone as his dark matted hair lifeless caressed his face. He was taking in shallow breaths as a thick leather hide jacket shielded his body from the brumal cold. As I inched closer to the window, a dense cover of accumulated snow sled off the roof, instantly provoking panic in us. In his feverish state, he feebly turned around as his slightly-red visage was finally unveiled. An audible gasp left my vocal cord as I backed up, tripping against a fallen root branch. His profile was splattered with patches of dark and light toned skin-colours at random intervals. His lips were conspicuously chapped. In the distance, I heard a lucid voice calling out an incoherent name as huffs and puffs of her ardent endeavor made themselves audible. 

The feminine voice continued chanting that she finally earned enough to pay for the medication as I concealed myself behind a large bolder which made itself a free spot by displacing the shed. I continued eavesdropping against the weak wooden wall of the square shed as the front door opened with a loud squeaking sigh. The voice embraced a more emotional tone as the heavy trudges lowered down into a soft thud. The boy had stopped suffering as a peaceful glow embraced his agonized body. The girl looked around fifteen with raven black hair and ragged winter clothes and a dark complexion. Tears filled with guilt and sorrow rolled down her cheeks as she tried to slap the boy back into consciousness. With the remorseful feeling of regret attaching itself to her, she wept out muffled apologies on the lines of how she should have worked harder to provide him with the best medication sooner. The trip still remains fresh in my memory like a pristine bench with the hard to remove wet paint. It was the last sight of snow for me for I could not forget how obliviously I stood at the shed without offering any helping hand. The epiphany of cruel nature of the world struck me as one side of the coin is a lavish society with mindless money expenditures whereas the other less – favored side is of the down-trodden. From the incident on that day, I convinced my parents to donate some part of our wealth to a local fundraiser for such people in need.