Bleached Bones

Entry 4

December 7th, 2004

Bones, 

Bones. I wish I could say this is not my first time writing in this thing for a while but there is no hiding the truth from you, Bones. Maybe that's why I cannot help but ignore this book, although it mocks me as if it sits high on a throne, propped above the rest of the mess in my room. It’s not that I don’t want to write, I love writing. But there is something about this book that makes things seem too real. Anyways, my main point is that I’m sorry for not writing to you more often, Bones. 

Entry 4.5

December 9th, 2004

Bones, 

To no one’s surprise, I did not finish the last entry, and going back to it just didn’t feel right so here I am, trying again. Why is it so hard for me to do things that are so seemingly simple? I love to write but, as I mentioned before, this book is too real for me. I don’t love living in the real, Bones. Aren’t writers supposed to take the real and turn it into something beautiful? Anyways, I am gonna try to continue what I was doing yesterday with this entry. Sorry for never being able to get to the point, I feel like I always forget to get to the point.

My reason for writing the other day.. and now today.. is that winter is here and I hate the cold. That is my problem. Without the sun there is nothing for me to do and there will be nothing for me to do for the next few months. I do not love winter because the cold bites. It is harsh, abrupt, and in your face which makes it impossible to ignore. Even with my best coat, I do not love winter Bones, and this is my problem. 

-B

Entry 5

December 14th, 2004

Bones, 

It snowed last night. Winter has grown colder and so my misery grows with it. Every snowflake that falls brings the temperature and my mood down. I do not love winter and this is my problem. If I wanted to be cold I would go swimming in a lake, in the summertime of course so the sun’s rays could melt the punctilious freeze from the cool water off of my skin. And the sandy beach grain would exfoliate the residue of any low temperatures from lingering in my pores. I would rather be hot, bundled, baked, drowsy and happy. However, summer is not coming anytime soon so instead I’ll stay inside for a while.

My whiny tone is not one I like to take on but I thought that was the point of this book. To write about my problem on the off chance that it goes away. Well, there’s no getting rid of winter, Bones, so my problem is here to stay. 

-B

P.S.- I saw a family of 3 from my window outside today building a snow girl. At first, all I thought about was how cold they must be, but quickly realized how unsettling the snow girl’s face was. A blank and hazed melancholy expression painted on where a smile and eyes of coal should be. She looked foggy as if steam was coming off of her. How could there be steam if winter has stolen the sun?

Entry 6

December 24th, 2004

Bones, 

I apologize for my abstinence for the last 10 days, I really did mean to write, but something happened to me. I went outside. The snow girl which I wrote to you about earlier continued to shed her mist, day after cloudy day. I couldn’t help but go see if the steam was real. Before leaving my house I bundled up in every way I could, down to the addition of my father’s snowboarding goggles to keep the heat in. Last minute I even decided to bring a lighter, in case I wanted to... so I could have more heat.

When I felt I was ready to step foot outdoors the initial cold that hit me didn’t sting. It was peaceful and soft, nothing like I had imagined. It felt so nice that I had decided to shed a few layers, including my father’s snowboarding goggles. My grip remained firm on the lighter, however. Moments later, as if planned, I was struck in the face by a snowball from an unknown figure who ended up running off with their identity. Probably some neighborhood kid. Anyways, the snow intruded on every open area on my face. I felt it hit my eyes, ears, and then mouth, in that order, completely masking each part of me. The impact of the snowball even made me drop the lighter in the snow, so that is now gone for good. 

To my surprise, after brushing the snow off of my eyes, ears, and then mouth, in that order, the cold bite that I had pictured before turned into a cooling kiss. My face was so cold that it began to feel warm in a comfortable way. The cold, however, was abrupt. I was always right about that but not in such a terrible way as I had imagined prior to winter decking me in the face. Remembering the task at hand, I turned to the snow girl who always taunts me from my window. All the steam, fog, haze, or whatever mist she was dressed in before was gone. Completely. 

-B

Entry 7

January 13th, 2005

“Bones”, 

This will be my last entry addressed to you. I hope you do not take it personal, as I am going to continue to write, just not to you. You are essential to the story of my being, but you have worn thin as winter snow only bleaches and weakens even the toughest of bones. You see, when I wrote to you it always felt as if you knew exactly what my problem was. It stared back at me from the page, my problem. “The cold.” But you are more deceiving than I thought. As I wrote to you and blamed my sorrows on winter, the real culprit lived on. 

After the snowball incident, I went back to my previous entries which, although contain a pitiful amount of writing and are small in number, are all addressed to someone who isn’t you. 

My problem has always remained beneath the first layer of fallen snow that came early on in December. Buried beneath this shallow ice are the things only revealed and shown when winter comes. Even the nights during winter are not as dark as they usually are. With all the snow everywhere to reflect the light up into the sky everything becomes revealed. Between the freshly fallen snow and my infatuation with heat, it was inevitable that steam would rise and sting its way directly into my vision. Maybe it wasn’t the heat I adored so much, but the haze that accompanied it. 

I now leave you with this. Next month, winter will be at its coldest. Although the snow girl has now fallen, I will be there, outside, every day for at least a while to allow the abruptness, the clarity, that the season brings to hit me like it did back in December. For the next 30 days, I will embrace the cold in hopes of it washing out the daze that I’ve fallen victim to for far too long. And if spring comes and my lighter turns up, I hope the flame inside will have gone fatal and that I’ll thank winter for dimming its light. 

Excerpt from Journal Entry 1 (the entirety of Journal Entry 1):

“Without the red curtains which stain my eyes, adding a rosy glow to the world, I become restless. So I yearn for the high and wonder when everything became so gray.”

-Beeja