Like Snow

Sensitive Content: Physical abuse, sexual abuse, substance abuse, physical violence

She'd heard that each snowflake was different but it didn't seem that way. To her, they were all cold and white, conspiring to smother all vibrancy and hide any signs of life. It appeared a vengeful assault on creation in response to its own inevitable fate. June stared out the window, watching the squalls with both admiration and envy. If only she could suffocate everything that grew in response to the force responsible for her own melting away. She hadn't always been so miserable.

June was born in July to the perfect family who lived in a perfect house in a near perfect neighborhood. When her parents brought her home from the hospital they surmised they she'd fit right in, and she did, until she was broken. The breaking was slow and steady; an unraveling of sorts. With each strike, each insult, each lie, the good and bad that were once intertwined escaped into its own. Eventually, the two were so separate that they grew in ways that made it impossible to ever join again. The good was necessary. It kept her safe. When the bad came out of hiding it was beaten and berrated by the one who created it in the first place. This day, as she stared out of the window, she felt the good melt away. The bad remained and it chilled her heart and mind rendering them frozen solid. With her finger she wrote on the frosted window "Be Like Snow".

The first kill was easy. The garage opened and June slithered in before he exited the car. She waited until the garage closed then quickly secured the scarf around his neck. She pulled tight until the feeble attempt at escape ceased. After slipping her calling card, a drawing of an intricate snowflake, into the mans jacket pocket she she slipped through the garage side door. Luckily, the snow had mostly melted so there was no need to cover her tracks.

At first, she went for people she knew. Her childhood best friend's dad seemed like a good place to start. June hadn't spoken to her friend in years, but she remembered the day Donna shamefully slid the open page of her diary across the table. Scribbled secret confessions of all the terrible things Donna's dad had done felt all too familiar. June slammed the diary shut and embraced her friend. Their tears seemed to wash away some of each other's guilt and shame. They'd always spoken of revenge but, as 10 year old girls, they were powerless. One day, her mom found that diary and shipped Donna off to who-knows-where. June never saw her again. Fortunately, Donna's parents lived in the same house. Her dad being the first victim only seemed right.

After targeting a few men on the local sexual predators list, June became known as the "Snowflake Murderer". The pride she felt every time her signature snowflake drawing flashed across the news screen was indescribable. She considered herself like Batman cleansing Gotham City. The buzz grew on social media and there were hundreds of posts each day about the killing spree. Some people called it disgusting and urged the police to work harder to find the murderer. Other's praised the escapade and accepted this justice as their own. That was how she identified her next victims. She stalked pages and found fathers, brothers, grandfather's, neighbors and anyone else who may have violated or hurt a young girl and ridded the world of their filth. As good as this felt, it wasn't enough to defrost her heart and mind. She knew that, as long as her perpetrator was breathing, she would remain cold.

June only saw her parents on holidays and, even then, visits were short. This Christmas, she debated going home at all. She'd spent most of her time alone in her one bedroom apartment. She avoided people at all costs with the exception of work and checking in with friends occasionally so as not to seem suspicious. Christmas had been on her mind since the first murder. She'd afforded justice to so many others but was intensely apprehensive about her own. After waffling for weeks, she called her mom to break the news that she couldn't make it this year. She couldn't gauge the sincerity of her mom's disappointment. Just as she was saying good bye, her dad's voice boomed in the background. He was demanding dinner. When her mom suggested that he wait until she was off of the phone, June heard the phone crash to the floor. She changed her mind. She was definitely going home.

They hadn't put up a tree since she moved away. The barren rooms on Christmas seemed just right. Just before dinner her dad finished another beer, probably his fifth. He stumbled to his chair and plopped himself down across from June. He asked the usual questions about when she would get married and lamented about how disappointed he was about not having grandkids. Behind the "uh huh" and occasional "Yes Dad", images of her snowflake drawing laying on his still body crowded her mind. An odd sense of excitement and anticipation built up inside her. She knew he'd go out to take a smoke after dinner. She'd tell her mom she was going to visit a friend and catch him while he was out. Falsely surprised and hysterical she'd "return from her friend's" to find her dad's lifeless body. She wasn't sure where she'd find the tears.

June pulled the car out of the driveway and parked around the corner. She quickly walked back around with the scarf and signature snowflake tucked in her pocket. As she got close, cigarette smoke marked the path. She followed its stench around the back of the house and peeked around the brick. The image of her dad propped against the house was disgusting. This would be easy. His drunkenness would render him unable to put up much of a fight. She usually tried to sneak up behind the victim, but she wanted her dad to look into her eyes. She wanted him to see the pain, the loss, the emptiness he'd caused and take that image with him to hell. June's mind was in motion but her body wouldn't move. She'd done this several times but here, she found herself infantilized as she had in his presence so many times before. A tear escaped and she turned back. She sauntered to the car, angry and disappointed. Guilt crept in but she had no idea where from. She didn't want to go back to her parents but the shame of plotting to kill her father, somehow, drew her there. She drove slowly back to the house and creeped up the driveway. As in every other encounter with her dad, June shouldered the blame for a sin she hadn't committed. In the house her dad was sitting in his armchair, barely awake. The little girl inside her walked over and kissed him on the cheek. Her present self was repulsed. The tug-of-war between self-condemnation for her intent and regret for her inaction kept her awake that night. She didn't want to see his face in the light of day so she got up and packed her things before sunrise. Carrying her bags to the door, June looked over to find him slumped over in his arm chair as she had so many times before. When June was little it was often on these mornings, when her dad has passed out after drinking too much the night before, that he was the meanest. Drunken evenings were when he took advantage of her. The little girl in her walked over to help him to bed and tell him goodbye. He didn't answer to his name. She called louder then went over to tap him on the shoulder. He didn't budge. June shoved a little harder, nothing. She bent to his level, face to face. Her dad's eyes were open and lifeless. She closed them and headed for the door. Her mom deserved to find him that way. In that moment, the ice encasing her heart melted away. Suddenly, she felt free, light and pure. Just like snow.