[Short Story] Preparing for the spring

Today was the third consecutive morning she woke up with a jolt. A strange fear spread from her toe to brain. Heart pounding, mind scrambling, palms sweating, and toes curling. This is what failure felt like. She knew it from the time she froze on stage during the school debate.

She pulled her quilt over her head and sighed in the darkness that engulfed her.  Strangely, in here she felt strong. Her eyes opened wide and all her muscles relaxed and awakened, ready for the fight. She thought this is what confidence must feel like, maybe.

She lazily climbed down from the bed, picked up her phone from under the pillow, and walked towards the kitchen. She looked at her feet advancing on the floor and made a mental note—feet trusts the floor.

In her living room, she stood behind the long glass doors watching her backyard— a carpet of shiny snow glistening on the surface. It was December, the peak of winter. So deceiving, she thought. The soft delicate white snow petals were actually murdering life beneath. She imagined her summer backyard—a happy place of lush green. She remembered every small detail-- the shape and size of the leaves on the trees, the angles of the grass blades, the different shades of green. She felt a pang of anger. How could anyone like snow? How could they ignore the murder?

She plopped herself on the sofa nearby and sipped on the coffee she’d made a while ago. She had to figure out a plan of action. Her relationship of seven years ended three days ago. The void he left felt enormous even today. She was tired of sympathies and sorrys from friends and family. She wished at least one of them could be angry like her. She hoped that someone could fight for her, really fight and beat the shit out of him. She felt the anger surging upwards again and tried to subside it with a sip of coffee. She continued to look accusingly at the snow and said a small prayer for the beloved dying green.

She placed the coffee mug on the table to her right, and picked up a small notepad lying alongside. She scribbled on it with black ink:

“He is the snow. I am the grass.”

She paused and glanced out again. Suddenly, her eyes widened and her muscles relaxed and awakened. She felt confident just like under the quilt this morning.

She continued writing.

“But the grass is not dying. She is letting the snow prepare her for spring.”