@baculxlunae                      

          Jack  watches  the  children  frolic  &.  play,  bursting  through  hills  of  snow,  piled  high  on  roadsides  &.  driveways,  soft  mountains  of  white  crumbling  under  small  bodies  bouncing  off  of  figurative  walls.    Of  course,  they  had  every  reason  to  be  EXCITED.    Why  ?    Well,  it  was  a  snow  day,  of  course  !  !  !    Was  there  anything  a  child  could  want  more  than  20  inches  of  snow  on  a  cold  winter’s  morning  ?    On  a  Monday,  too  !

          A  small  smile  flickers  across  tired  features,  &.  he  lets  out  a  heavy  sigh.    Hands  reach  out  idly  to  grab  his  -  oh.    That’s  right.    Not  his  anymore,  it  -  no,  that’s  not  right  -  she  had  taken  off  .  .  .  how  long  ago  ?    It  wasn’t   LONG,  he  couldn’t  have  forgotten  already.    His  memory  wasn’t  that  poor.    Then  again,  the  last  DECADE  had  seemed  blurred,  perhaps  the  information  just  BLED  INTO  the  background  noise  of  years  drifting  past.    He  would  never  know.

          Digits  grasp  weakly  at  empty  air  &.  he  purses  his  lips  before  withdrawing  his  hand.    300  years.    &.  now  he  was  left  alone.    Guess  old  habits  die  hard.    Fingers  comb  through  his  locks  before  dropping  limply  to  his  side.    Something  told  him  that  frigid  grip  around  his  heart  wasn’t  NORMAL,  it  was  familiar,  but  unwanted.

          In  the  distance,  the  loving  voices  of  two  parents  ring  out  across  the  suburbs,  calling  their  children  away  from  the  cold.   The  spirit  watches  them  go  longingly.    How  DESPERATELY  did  he  want  a  family  like  that  ?    But  he  turns  away.    Only  desperate  fools  daydreamed  about  the  things  they  couldn’t  HAVE,  only  they  gave  themselves  false  hope.

          ‘  Maybe  if  I  get  to  Canada  before nightfall,  I  can  avoid  the  Wendigos  this ti  -  ‘  &.  suddenly  his  train  of  thought  is  derailed  &.  he  can  feel  some  strain  of  PANIC  building  /  throbbing  /  screaming  in  his  chest.    What  kind  of  cruel  mistress  was  FATE  that  he  run  into  her  of  all  people  in  a  small  town  in  Vermont  ?    Out  of  everywhere  in  the  world  .  .  .  what  were  the  chances  ?

          “  Holly,  ”  his  voice  is  but  a  WHISPER,  a  few  snowflakes  drifting   on  his  shaking  breath.    Should  he  flee  ?    He  was  good  at  that,  wasn’t  he  ?    RUNNING  AWAY  from  his  problems.    &.  yet,  he  was  frozen  in  place.    How  ironic.