Snowy Days

The world was an impeccable and idyllic frost blanketing the landscape and blossoming across windows; gracing the ground with enough inches of powdery snow for human children to immediately trample on unceremoniously and begin building their wintery forts or sculptures. Demy remembered the scene vividly from his past as he had to watch these children and make sure they didn’t obtain frostbite despite being dressed like small penguins and he barely had enough on to keep the shiver from being visible. He clutched his walking stick as he watched the sun creep over the snowdrifts and illuminate the billowing smoke from a hut across the way. The sweet smell of slow roasting meat with a glazed seasoning wafted over him and he felt the lurch of pain in his stomach; not from hunger but disgust as he shriveled from the porch to return to his little shack and pulled the door shut behind him. He sighed as the fireplace had a dying smolder which he reignited with another log and kindling, before taking the task of clearing out the ash from around the base to keep the fire from being smothered. He took this ash and packed it down before placing it in its own container and sliding it off to the side before trying to cautiously find his footing with his stick being a major assistance. 

It had been an odd amount of weeks to him since living with other faun, and he still wasn’t entirely used to it. He sheepishly wandered the shack and poked his nose against the windows and shutters to glance outside, listening for his neighbors or any children that might chance playing in the cold. He managed to catch a glimpse of a group of kids running amok in the snowdrifts behind adults attempting to clear off the snow from places of high traffic or pertaining to their daily chores, and the kids pelted the adults with snowballs for their labor. 

Demy shivered as he stood at the window before closing the curtains to keep the heat from escaping through the glass, and turned back to his kitchen to see about the bread he had started earlier in the wee hours to cull some of his anxiety for the winter holiday. So many traumatic memories had returned to him like old friends back for another round of reliving the same day of fun for demons but never for the sufferer. He remembered the switch and balled fists aimed at his expense, the cutting words and the harsh punishment of chores if even one child strayed from his fatigued peripheral. It was so difficult to focus back then because of the chill and absence of sustenance to keep him going; he partially wondered how he even managed to survive it or the taste of iron in his mouth at the mere reflection of the grit teeth of the human adults in his direction. 

The mere memory of that human crowd; a family of disappointment and glares. Demy felt his arms tremble as his fingers skimmed the bricks of the oven, and he frowned deeply as his eyes watered up but he closed them to will them back to submission. He stood there in the middle of his kitchen and listened to the children outside, screaming their own war cries and dunking snow on each other, while he was there just… feeling cold to the bone. He wasn’t even sure if he should feel at all.