Zero Below

• Jasmine Aitken, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2019

The cold cement of the frozen lake squeaks with every step. I look out ahead at the trees in front with their black decaying fingers swaying gently in the icy breeze. Stern mountains glare behind them, their noble frames dipping at the cool touch of water. Blue stained glass fogged at each timid touch of my naked toe, in the way glass fogs with a young child's gentle breath. Turquoise waters rise further to the surface, white lines like lightning deep below the ice. I feel weight shift gently to my front foot and the ground creaks like the bow of a ship rocking gently with the waves. Then finally in a burst of song, the clouds part and I can see golden rays of sunlight glitter through dead icicles hanging lifelessly from the grimy branches of sleeping trees. At least I think they are sleeping. Nothing really lives here. I hear whistles coming through the mountains. In my mind, I can see a small shepherd calling for his dog. The small blur of black and white whirling around his flock like the tossing ocean chasing the horizon. Or maybe a small child, only five or six, playing with his brother in the white blades of grass. I can see his boots sinking into the snow, his smiling pink face painted with the bold colours of winter's breath. And with his sibling, only an inch taller but towering with pride as he watches over his ward. I can almost see them. Almost. But all there is is the mountain wind screaming ‘til it's hoarse. "It's okay," I tell myself, "No-one will come looking for me anyway." I sink to my knees carefully and feel rough shards of ice soften against my bare shins. The sweat in my palms freezes onto my now violet skin as soon as I unclench my fists. My hands slowly tremble above my head and I smile, breathlessly, at the sunlight dancing around me; Puffs of steam floating awkwardly upwards before falling as snow again. The smile contorts to a grimace of pain as I steady myself on porcelain knees. My heavy shoulders heave further upwards before I smash inanimate fingers down on the foggy glass. “Thud”. The dull sound barely covers the screaming mountains serenading me with painful songs. I pulled my reluctant hands up again, showing the deep pink stain where I had struck. I hit the ice again. And again. And again. Again, again, again, again. Splinters of ice attack me from every direction as dark red cracks shatter around me and ooze further with every punch. I need to breathe. Shakily, I heave one rasping breath, making me forget the eternity since I last drew air. Slowly my head trembles downwards like the tumbling snow of the dusty summits glaring at me. In the corner of m bloodshot eye, I can see frothy crimson mess streaming away from me along jagged roads of ice. Running as fast as it can to escape me. But it can't. Nothing escapes this place. And I can never escape myself. I hear a soft voice. It seems so far away yet echoes in my head until I can hear nothing else but the gentle croon. "Persephone, I'm home."