(Enjoy my short fantasy story, "Snow Angel." It is copyrighted, so just share the link if you want others to read it.)
Snow Angel
By
Pamela K. Kinney
I remember that winter night when I saw the snow angel. It had just
started to snow after supper, about six o’clock. Thanks to the weather, when
the sky would have been just turning dusk, instead darkness covered the scene
like a shadow.
Pressing my face against the ice-cold glass of the large picture window
in the living room, I watched the snow falling in the dark. It was illuminated
by an eerie kind of ghost-light. At least that’s how I thought of it.
Silence. The only movement came from a lone cat struggling through the
drifts to disappear down a storm drain across the street.
I sensed rather than heard someone behind me. I blew out my breath,
fogging the glass.
“Mom, it’s time for bed.”
My daughter, Marie. Of course, who else would it be, since I lived with
her and her husband, Andy?
I looked over my shoulder at her. “This feels like a reversal of when you
wanted to stay up later. Remember those days?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom, but the doctor gave me strict instructions
that you get enough rest.”
Grumbling, I moved away and headed down the hallway to my bedroom, Marie
close on my heels. Not caring, I shrugged off my clothes and flung them to the
floor. Marie flashed frustration on her face, but stooped and picked up the
clothing, tossing it in a hamper nearby, snatching my nightgown and slipping it
on. I ducked beneath the soft pink blanket on my bed. My daughter leaned over
to give me a kiss on my cheek. Feather-soft, her lips tickled my
skin.
“’Night,” she said, her voice a whisper, “and dream of snow angels dancing
in the snow.”
“That’s silly,” I said. “I only told you that story when you were a kid
to get you to sleep during the night. It was my way of getting you to not worry
about monsters in closets or under your bed.”
“There are all kinds of angels in Heaven, Mom. The snow angel is God’s
own special answer to make sure that snow falls just right so that children
will have a wonderful winter world to marvel at.” She stroked my hair. “Least
that’s how you explained it to me. Now go to sleep.”
She left me alone. I didn’t feel somnolent. Instead I never felt so
wide awake.
I slipped out of bed and sat on the window seat by my bedroom window. I
peered through the glass and tried not to smog it up with my breath, hoping the
snowflakes were still lit up with that odd glow. Thank goodness, they still
were.
Just then, I noticed a dark shadow moving in the distance, outlined by
the glow, too. Flickering off and on like a shorted bulb, it appeared to be
gliding closer and closer to the house. I rubbed my eyes, thinking they were
playing tricks on me. But when I took my hands away, something peered back at
me from the other side of the window, and it was not my own reflection!
Heart pounding, I toppled off the window seat. Its head—at least I
assumed that was its head—popped through the glass as if it were water and
looked down at me. Twin orbs of icy-blue glowed from that dark visage. The glow
grew brighter and brighter. Unable to move or speak, I fell into that glow and
a sense of peace and warmth filled me. I stood.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
Silence. It slid its head back through the window. I got the
feeling that it wanted me to join it outside. Not even stopping for a robe or
shoes, I unlatched my window and shoved it and the screen up. Frigid air
invited itself in and I shivered, but I still climbed out. I dropped down into
a soft drift of snow piled beneath my window. To my surprise, I didn’t feel the
cold snow squished between my toes and the freezing wind of the blizzard biting
into my exposed skin. A warmth filled me, and, feeling giddy, I danced through
the snow, laughing.
My visitor took my hands, and I stopped dancing and looked up at it. It
loomed over me, the ghost-light revealing a long figure of ice and snow. Its
wings, made not of feathers but icicles, chimed like church bells. The being
was glorious and terrifying at the same time. I wasn’t frightened.
“You’re a snow angel, aren’t you?” I asked breathlessly. “A real snow
angel.”
It just pressed me against it. Together, arm in arm, we danced a waltz
through the snowflakes. We seemed to be floating on air. Magical, like
Christmas morning or that first kiss.
There was nothing to fear, and, when the angel offered, I let it fly me
up, up, through swirling snowflakes, high above the neighborhood.
****
At first I never gave a thought to my family. But when I heard the
screaming and crying from far away, it drew me back. I peeked at the scene
below. Morning had dawned and the snow stopped. Something small and indistinct
dressed in a pink nightgown lay blanketed by snow right under my bedroom
window.
The window was still propped open. Marie dropped to her knees in the snow
and snatched up that still form, screaming and crying. Andy stood over her,
talking on his cell phone.
Marie stared up at the sky. She acted like she couldn’t see me. But I saw
her tear-stained face and the pain in her eyes. “Why, God, why?”
I wanted to go to her, but I felt a touch on my shoulder and I looked to
see the snow angel hovering beside me. It held out a hand. I took it.
I looked back at Marie and said, “It’s all right, everything’s all
right.”
Ready now?
I nodded with a smile. We rose higher and higher and passed through a
tear in the sky that appeared. The tear closed behind us and I passed
through shining gates, entering the snowy fields of Heaven.
