Who: Shiri (solo) What: The Snow Circle of Life Where: Kathy Jenkin’s (Adam’s mother) back & front yard, NJ When: January 3 Warning: none
It wasn’t the snow that Shiri hated. It was just the fact that snow only existed when it was cold. That, and how hideous it became when it got dirty after a few days. It made her long for yesteryears when there were less cars and motorcycles about – less to dirty that snow until it melted away. When cities didn’t throw down industrial brown salt, which only made the gray slush color even worse to her eyes.
She sighed a little at it before dismissing the thought and walking to the backyard, turning a long stick that she had found abandoned almost in dead center of the street about her body. She was certain it once had a shovel attached to it but that shovel had probably been the cheapest piece of plastic to have emerged from a factory’s machine press and snapped under the strain of the snow banks.
But the snow was melting now.
Despite how the albino was dressed in her knit cap, heavy coat, wool skirt and thermals, it was warmer now – above freezing and much of the snow had fled either into the sewers or flooded into unlucky people’s basements.
That was fine for the town and their “clean up efforts” but it was not fine for her snow sculptures.
Melting was the opposite of fine for them.
And it was just going to get worse.
They were becoming misshapen and distorted…
She turned the long stick over her wrists again, tossing it behind her back like a baton and caught it with her other hand before she swung it as hard as she could through the midsection of the first of her three fleeing snow people.
They could try to flee from the immobile mouth monster all they wanted but the could not flee from their creator or from the stick she had found in the street.
They were but snow people. They didn’t even have legs.
The purpose of her destruction was twofold. The first half was a sense of practical pride. She would rather destroy her own art than watch it melt into unsculpted, formless messes before seeping into the wet, cold earth. The second half was why a gleeful smirk was upon her stark face as she destroyed them in one of the crudest, most primitive ways possible. Their demise had not been started by the hand of some mortal but by the warmth of the sun. The sunshine had begun to melt her work and something in her muse soul clicked at such knowledge. While her mind knew Apollo had nothing to do with this – her soul didn’t care.
She belonged to the god of the sunshine and his will would be done – even if that will was the destruction of her own work. It would be done with celebration and spectacle even.
She struck the second snowman even harder and laughed even louder purposely in order to block the thought from her mind that truly, she belonged to another god now and as fond as the Christians were of titles like “Sun of Justice” – she didn’t appreciate it and wouldn’t abide such thoughts this afternoon. She consciously blocked such thoughts with wanton violence against her innocent, defenseless creations.
After all, besides sex and alcohol, wanton violence against innocents that one was responsible for was a favorite, traditional means of distraction for the Greeks.
Finally, out of breath, she was done and leaned against her stick. The snow scene was no more, reduced to a pile of white chunks before her.
Her desire for violence dissipated from her. The desire for destruction no longer thrilled her.
Her muse instincts remained strong in influence over her but they returned her, once more, to acts of creation and art. The stick fell from her hand as she crouched down, giving in and surrendering to such instincts, and began to roll the snow into a ball once again. The sun would only melt a new sculpture but part of her couldn’t help herself.
The snow would not remain forever.
She wanted to play with it while she still could.
Once it was suitable size, she carried it to the front of the house and placed it near the driveway, where she knew Kathy would see it when she returned home from work. Near the driveway also gave her the added bonus of being able to sit on the cleared off pavement as she worked, using a couple found, delicate twigs from the emerging yard to carve out the figure of a rabbit. It took her a minute to scavenge for something suitable for its little nose and whiskers.
A cold breeze blew then and cut through Shiri’s many layers. It chilled her to her bones and no amount of layers made her feel warm any longer. Even the pavement she sat upon felt cold and unbearable. The wind was so cruel sometimes.
“Now, bunny, you stay existing until Kathy comes home,” she instructed the snow rabbit as she patted it on its head and stood up, “And if you are going to melt, do it in the evening. It will be better for you that I don’t kick you down when you get all weird and sad looking.”
With a slight stretch, she turned to the house and decided it was time to go in. She was too cold to be outside now. Time for hot chocolate and cuddling with her mortal until dinner.
Summary: The snow in New Jersey had begun to melt and Shiri decided that she was going to help the sunshine destroy her sculptures. Only afterward does she decide to make a new one.