Awaiting Valhalla

       Where am I? Just moments ago, I was in bliss among a sea of my brothers and sisters, falling from the sky and being whisked to wherever the wind took us. What is this, a house? Why am I looking at a house? I see it had already been taken over by my kind; its roof, the once green grass, it’s all drenched in our lives. But why am I so far from it? Shouldn’t I be lying on the ground, looking up at our work? But now, I can see clearly through the window…amazing. I’ve heard stories of what goes on beyond the glass, but I don't see into the lives of our co-inhabitants often, only from window sills on occasion. A tree? What is such beauty doing inside a home? What have they done to it? Why is it bastardized with so many colors? Its branches are littered with spheres and other odd shapes I’ve never seen before…is that a man with wings standing at the top? Don’t tell me this is what humans call beautiful…of you’re going to take a tree from its home, at least give it the decency of keeping its natural regality.

            What’s this? A little human is coming out of a doorway I didn’t realize was already open. She has so many layers on, I can barely see her small face underneath all her clothes. A defense mechanism? She must fear my kind, naturally. Throughout my years, I’ve caused so many accidents among your automobiles, so many cave-ins on frail roofs, you people are lucky that we are forced to ascend to the sky or seep into the ground when that blasted sun comes to its full power. 

I’ve heard tell of a place blessed to be as far from that damned star as can be, a place in perpetual cold and snowfall where my kind can thrive. Only the greats ever make it there. I once heard a man describe a place called Valhalla as he bled all over me as he lie dying in the snow-covered battlefield. Another man, a thick beard and screaming bloody murder, had stabbed him right through the heart and left him alone to die on top of me and my brothers. Cruel as it was, I remember hearing his words. A world where all your desires come true, a world where you may indulge in all your creature comforts as much as you’d like until your true calling came, a final role during Ragnarok. A cruel sounding word that I never got the chance to understand since that large man died halfway through his prayers. 

I heard all of this centuries ago and surely I’m forgetting some major details, but I wonder if this faraway place where the cold never sleeps, the snow never dies, and the lights in the sky dance, is anything like this Valhalla. 

By god, I hadn’t even noticed; this tiny human is carrying a few torture devices in her hands. She’s laughing…in my presence? Don’t you know what I can do to you if given the opportunity?  Don’t you…wait. What are you holding? Is that a beast’s excrement? No, it’s a piece of coal. What do you plan to do with that? No, get that away from me! What are you—

Interesting. I can see so much more now. My sight seems to have doubled after you put that ore on my makeshift face. Why, there are so many windows on this house! I can see into so many rooms! The windows are all frosted over thanks to my brothers, but I can only imagine what sorts of stories each window must tell!

What in the blazes? Is that a carrot? Have you never been to a farm? Don’t you know my repertoire? I kill crops for a living! Here we go again, another item coming towards me. Don’t you dare strike me with that vegetable!

What is this sensation? Sight is one thing, touch is another…but there’s something new I’ve never felt. I remember hearing the word smell before, is that what this is? There’s something so aromatic coming from the house, it smells so…is sweet the word? Something that brings me just as much joy as seeing the wheels of a car spin uncontrollably as it rams into the side of a building! Whatever this is, I want it. 

Another person has appeared in the doorway, she looks rather mean. She grabs a door that had been pushed to the side and slides it right in front of where she’s standing, and the amazing smell is now gone. How rude.

What is that standing in the doorway now? It seems to be standing right in front of her. It’s white, just like me, and it’s made of three white stones stacked on top of each other. What sort of ritual is this? There’s something on the top stone that looks strange, two black dots and an orange one right between them. What am I looking at?

The small human who had been putting the items on me walks in front of the stones just as she walks right in front of my periphery. What sort of trickery is this? Are there two of them? What sort of magic is this? I swear I only saw one of you before, but now, you’ve divided into two? Oh now what? What is that in your hand? 

“Here’s a little hat so you don’t get snow in your eyes Mr. Snowman! I know it’s supposed to be a top hat but we don’t have one. My daddy had a Seattle Mariners hat you can have though!” She flashes the hat across my eyes until its out of sight, but in the doorway, I see her twin place the hat on the top stone with the dots on it.

This isn’t magic. Somehow, by some sort of unnatural trick, that’s me I can see. The door is also a window, and now I can see me. I am the three stacked stones, and the hat now belongs to me. Mr. Snowman. Was she talking to me? These aren’t stones…by god, she’s crushed me with my brothers and sisters and created a monster out of our remains! You demon! I knew you humans were inhumane, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever seen! You’ve forced everyone I’ve ever known to be merged together into what, a man? If this is what man is capable of, why would you make me and my kind into one? How cruel! I curse thee! Get this hat off me, take these adornments off me, and leave me to the whims of the Earth! How disgusting is this? What has moved you to torture me with such a primitive tactic? When my brothers and I are free from this prison, I shall rend you asunder, human. You have my word. I shall become the ice that makes its burrow at the exact spot where your boots will slide upon, and your skull will slam against the Earth, your brains will become mush, your bones will--

“I love you Mr. Snowman! I have to go inside for lunch now, but I promise I’ll be back out when I can!” She puts out her thick, blue arms and wraps them around me, and her face is right up against my line of sight where all I can see is her bundled up face. Then, she backs away and waves at me before running towards the glass door she’d come out of and leaves me alone.

What is this feeling? 

Time has passed, and she has kept her word today. She appeared with even more items in her hands; a scarf, of which she wrapped around what I assumed was to be my neck. Two branches, from where I do not know, of which she stuck into my sides in such a cruel manner, I yearned to apologize to the dear tree in her stead. Whenever the glass door slides shut, I can see the monster she is turning us into…can the rest of my brethren see everything I do? I’m sure if they do, they all want to destroy her for doing this to us, for turning us into an amalgamation of our kind so horrid, not even the animals of the forest can face us.

But as much as my being wants to echo the sentiments of my kin, I can’t help but feel something else. This human, of whom I overheard one of the larger humans calling her Elise, has shown me an unprecedented amount of kindness despite the torture she is putting me through. Does she not know what she has done? The inhumane work she has put forth? She seems ignorant of it. As I think these things, she currently has a tiny table set between us with two cups of brown water sitting on top. She is sipping out of one of them, still bundled in her somehow soft armor, and is smiling at me as if I were one of her own. Why does she do this?

“Don’t worry, this isn’t snow. They’re marshmallows! They’re super sweet and are perfect in hot chocolate! I made you some.”

Hot. 

She is torturing me! Her kindness is a ploy to win me over, to reveal something about my kind. What is your ultimate plan, fiend? What are you trying to get out of me? Regardless of what it is, I will not break. Pour the hot, brown liquid on me! I have seen real torture through the years. I’ve seen men die on the battlefield, seen beasts shot in the heart, nothing you could do would be enough to break—

“But now that I think about it, you probably shouldn’t drink it because you’ll melt and then we wouldn’t be friends because you’d be gone. More for me!” She takes the small cup she’d put in front of me and pours it into hers. 

Friends?

I’ve heard of this before. This term seems to hint at a sort of comradery between humans that extends beyond the battlefield, beyond mere acquaintances. How could you call me such a thing? We are not of the same kind, and you have put me and my brethren into this terrible form of which…of which you’ve tended, to keep me standing. You’ve seemed to have given me personality through this strange amalgamation of clothing and features you’ve put on me. Personality…I didn’t know I could possess such a thing. Certainly no one of my kind has looked like this before, right? I look like a monster, yet this small human---Elise---spends her time with me on her own free will. She is braver than most men I’ve seen throughout my time cycling from the sky to the ground for a millennium. 

There was once a human I was near who was working on a story with this creation called a typewriter. She spoke much during her writing process, often reciting her lines as she went. She described a creature created by a man named Frankenstein, of whom her story was about. A bastardized form of man that was created by a real human, and was able to move around on its own free will despite being told to indulge in his creators’ whims. Could I be living this life? Am about to be able to move on my own, if given feet? 

I want this, but something keeps me here despite my longing for freedom. Perhaps it’s that she hasn’t given me shoes yet. Perhaps it’s something more.

I have stood at this house for weeks, though it seems to have grown larger in the time I’ve been here. I feel much lower to the ground…I must be melting, that damned star in the sky is to blame; curse you, my century old rival. Were it not for this tiny, armor clad human, I would surely be gone by now. What world do I exist in where this tiny human is pouring ice on me just to keep me here. Where does Elise find all this ice? Is this a natural ability of hers? I’ve seen her through the tall window that looks into the house, and have seen her grab this ice out of a big white box before; is this the source? Regardless, for some strange reason she has checked on me day in and day out and made sure I was cool. One time when she saw I was noticeably smaller after three sunrises without seeing her, and trails of water fell from her eyes, and I could see small ice crystals form on her flesh as she buried her face in her scarf. What was she doing? She was being so loud too, exclaiming how “sad” she was that she’d been gone. Sad? I’ve seen real sadness in my years floating around this planet, how is this sad? We are enemies, human. Sad over me? I certainly wasn’t sad with you away for all those long nights, all those silent sunsets without you offering me that brown water that could destroy me in an instant. All those sunrises where my only company were the ravens swooping overhead, pecking at the carrot you put on my face without you around to shoo them off. So why did you proclaim sadness when the feeling wasn’t mutual? Though, I wonder where you had gone. You came back with a small cut on the side of your cheek and I was reminded of the spartan I saw gushing that crimson water that you humans share right from the side of his face where his assailant had cut his head clean in half with a battle axe. Did you bleed like that? Surely your armor was comparable to his. If you did, you are much more resilient than him, and I will commend you for that.

Why do you tend to me, Elise, when you know I cannot do the same?

I am nothing more than a single sphere of snow by now, I had forgotten how huge the world looks from down here; it has been a long time since I’ve left the clouds. So long in fact, I was hoping my Valhalla was awaiting me next, yet here I find myself slowly deforming with each cycle of the sun, with you here all the while. I wonder where I will go next once that star sends me back up into the atmosphere, but I don’t find myself thinking about this as much as I usually do on my tours about these human cities. Why, the last thought I had was when our next “teatime” session would be, Elise. I wonder if you’ll replace this “tea” with snow like you did the last few times. I should be disgusted by this action, but I find myself thankful that you know that I’m more comfortable around the cold. You even took the scarf off of me as to not warm me up more than the star in the sky does; who thinks of that? 

You’re looking at me in a strange way, Elise? Why does your lip quiver so? I’m sure my current state is putrid to look at; on the verge of becoming a puddle with a handful of coal and a rotten carrot moistened by my new form. I am no longer a snowman as you created me to be, rather the last remnants of your crude Statue of David that is about to ascend to the sky in only a few more rotations of the sun. You have that sad look on your face again, don’t tell me it’s pity at just the sight of me. After all we’ve been through? After all the dress-ups and confessionals we’ve had? Surely you’re not throwing all of that away just because I’m not what you intended me to be any longer? If the roles were reversed, surely you’d be fitting of a warriors send off. I’d find an engraved casket for you and light in in flames like the warriors of old did. You would be deserving of much. 

“I’m sorry we have to say bye Mr. Snowman. I’m going to miss you. You were the bestest snowman I could’ve asked for!”

            I was?

            “I can’t wait to see you next year!”

            Oh Elise, if only you weren’t so ignorantly blissful to the whims of nature. 

            The sun has rose and set so many times since I’ve floated through the clouds. I wonder how long it’ll be until I am able to come back down to the Earth. Will I meet someone like Elise again? 

            What’s this? The land below is…white. As far as the eye can see. I can see the snowcapped mountain ranges in the distance, glistening from the sun but even from here, I know power of that star is nothing here.

            I’m falling back to Earth, but towards this white wonderland. It’s cold, yes, just how I like it. A cold I’ve never felt before, more intense than a suburb, or the Himalayas, or even that Iceland place. This is something new, but not fresh. This snow has been here for ages.

            I’ve made it. Valhalla awaits me.

But why do I feel like something’s missing? In Valhalla, now that I think about it, you dine with your brethren from the past life for an eternity until Ragnarok comes. Who am I to dine with?

Ah, a friend, perhaps. Surely, if that old viking could make it to Valhalla, then my dear Elise could as well.