“Snow this deep could stuff my throat and turn me into a snowman,” the man in black jested and laughed at himself. “Wait.” He held up a hand so dirty it purified the falling snow. “Listen.” His blue eyes chased the distance, trying to make sense of his ears. “Is it laughter?”
“Sounds more like wailing,” said his companion in white. “Like someone just died. What a dreadful noise.” He sighed. “Can we go back now? It’s so cold. We’ve been out here for as long as I can remember.”
“No, I swear to you, your dreadful noise is laughter. Just beyond that curtain of snow ahead.” He waved his hand forward. “We can’t go back now, we’re almost there!”
The two trudged forward for however long until the man in black fell in the snow. His companion looked down at him, concluded:
“I’m going back now. It was… an idea anyway. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“But we’re almost there, man!” His body sank deeper and deeper into the snow and his breathing slowed. “It’s just beyond that curtain of snow. It’s laughter…”
But the man in white was gone already, had disappeared into the past, following the footprints back, and the snow man’s speech diminished to a whisper as he too was erased by the snow.
“Listen. It’s just ahead and it’s laughter… It’s laughter and…”
– Josh Pryer
Josh Pryer (07/07/1993) is an American musician and writer. Currently, he lives in Los Angeles, CA, and is earning a degree in Comparative Literature.