When the Worlds They Fall Apart

Julian Ice stared at his hands and did not recognize them.

Light fractured across his fingers, shadows sharpening his features into something wrong, something cold, something solid. The chill crept into his bones, stinging his lungs, as if winter was in residence. He tried to breathe, pressing his thumb into his other palm. the exercises his mother taught him. His tension was high and rising. His breath frosted. His fingertips tingled, numbed by the cold's relentless grip. It wasn’t enough.

Almost... but not quite.

The cold came fast; the moment the laughter started, the ground already covered with sparkles of frozen condensation.

A flash, merciless and cold.

It receded, making the room still. His friend stood frozen before him, mouth still forming Julian’s name. Shock kept sound from escaping his body. Julian couldn’t move, mirroring Fletcher in the ice. He could only stare. A mix of emotions twisted within him. Fear at the power he barely understood, guilt gnawing at him for the unintended consequence of his reaction, and confusion about how such coldness felt so deeply rooted within.

He watched frost creep, delicate as lace, and wondered where such coldness came from and why it felt so familiar as he stood watching the other children gather around. Julian tried. He’d been taught by his parents that he had to remain calm, that he couldn’t let his temper rise. This time it wasn’t temper.

It was fear.

It made him feel as if the rules had changed.

He stood, slumped, coldness draining like rivulets into his hands.

A silent, shy boy, he tried his best to please others, to be kind, still, and not too rowdy. He was used to being alone; he was a solitary person to begin with, and with this power, it was probably for the better. It came on quickly, sharp as a knife and heavy like iron. He received lessons in the past, taught ways to breathe through the approaching sharpness before the light struck him. But this time, he was pushed too far.

Fletcher was just mean.

Julian played by himself, spinning stories that whisked him to distant worlds. The plane in his hand became a spaceship, circling him on a secret mission to steal the ‘Hexic’ from Earth. It swooped and soared in a perfect arc. As he spun, Fletcher crept up behind him and suddenly shouted his name. The plane launched out of his hand as the muscles in his body squeezed with fear. His pulse, loud in his ears, was a relentless drumbeat that matched the darkness spreading in his jeans as the plane sailed in slow motion towards Fletcher’s face. The coldness seized Julian. Fueled by embarrassment and fear, racing through his outstretched arm like a mighty river, smashed into Fletcher before he could finish saying Julian’s name.

The sound of cracking ice splintered from his hand, accompanied by a flash of light. One of the nearby children, startled, popped like a bubble and disappeared. Another boy started laughing so hard he melted to the floor, bubbles rising to the surface in time with each giggle. As Julian stood watching the cascading horror around him, he noticed the cube of ice containing Fletcher began to sweat. Rivulets of icy water followed, trailing down. Like a spring thaw in fast-forward, cracks fractured and raced the height of the block, capturing each second in rapidly thawing glass. Fletcher's face started moving, as if awakening from a deep freeze. Anger crossed Fletcher’s face as the ice exploded in every direction. Shards of ice danced in the air as the other children ducked and screamed, racing from the carnage.

Fletcher crunched forward through the slush as a chunk fell from his shoulder. Fists balled, white from anger and ice, he approached Julian and looked down on him. The heat radiating from his skin ran hotter than normal, turning his skin crimson. Small, guttering flames burst to life, dancing in spirals, up his form. Evaporating ice and slush started steaming. Making him look like a living torch. Fletcher was quite tall for his age, towering over Julian as if he were a teenager. None of the children were. This was pre-ed. A school for ‘Hexic’ to prepare them for the Academy, and then, after, life with their special gifts. Each child here had an ability, something no one else had.

Julian looked up into Fletcher’s angry face and felt the heat soaring in the room, his remaining coldness in his fingers. As Fletcher flamed anger down on him, Julian flexed his chilly fingers as if preparing to unleash the frost once more. His smile was meek, his eyes soft as smoke, hoping it might bring Fletcher’s temperature back down. Thoughts raced behind his calm exterior. He was thankful it was Fletcher, with a heat index, and not another child who could be seriously harmed. Julian didn’t mean to hurt Fletcher, but if needed, he knew his ice would resurface swiftly, quicker than Fletcher could burn.

“Boys—”

The loud voice cut through the air like a shock wave. It was Mr. Boom, the teacher here at the school. Fletcher’s flame extinguished as he and Julian turned. Julian released his fists as Mr. Boom approached, moving them in front of his embarrassment, trying to hide his shame.

The echoes of the shattering ice and the murmurs lingered, leaving a tremor in his chest. His senses, heightened and raw, left him seeking solace in the car's rhythmic hum as he was driven home.

His hands still held the cold.

* * *

Elias Snow was surrounded by an eerie silence in the car. The air was soft and unmoving.

“What are you thinking about, son?” his mother asked from the front seat. She spoke precisely, gently. Her education filled every word.

Elias blinked.

“Nothing, Mom.” His eyes had the same icy depth as Julian’s.

“Then why is it snowing in here?”

It sparkled on the headliner, pushing like Spaetzle through a colander, then fell softly like memories and emotions. Each flake, small and perfect, fell in a gentle cascade. Elias was in the back, strapped in his booster seat, staring at the rushing world through the window. Eyes like the underside of a glacier, set into a face that fractured. Flat and angular, sharp and crisp, topped with hair like the night.

His mind constantly shifted, trying to consolidate feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. The air freshener's scent, mingled with the faint leather, created a heady mix that seemed to cling to him. It wrapped him. Tightening like a vice. Sights, sounds, smells, and the environment tangled within him. A constant battle to keep things in check. He wasn’t angry, just totally stricken by things he couldn’t control. The need to be a perfect son made him brush at his clothing, as if dust or snow were constantly on its surface.

He was precise, and he wanted the world that way.

He fluttered his eyes as he shifted away from the window. He watched the flakes drift down, then laughed out loud, cupping his hand to catch a tiny, perfect flake. He changed his thoughts. He closed his eyes and started brushing his sleeve, exhaling deeply.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said, a voice crisp like the ping of ice cracking.

"Remember what we learned?" she asked, looking in the mirror, making a circle with her lips. "And, blow." The air rushed out. "Then breathe."

He took a breath, as she had taught him, and closed his eyes, the coldness leaving his fingers. He felt the sun return to his face.

It stopped snowing.

“What’s bothering you, Elias?” she asked, eyes in the mirror studying her son.

She showed her love through small gestures, like carefully tucking in Elias's blanket at night or preparing his favourite meals. She instinctively knew when to offer a gentle smile or a reassuring pat on his back, understanding his need for order and control. Elias had not asked for his strange gift, and she recognized his effort to manage it. Together with Elias's father, she worked tirelessly to give him the best life possible, focusing on education and lessons. Love wasn't always easy for them to express openly, but she hoped deeply that, through these actions, Elias would feel it. She wasn’t sure how to change it.

He drew a breath, his eyes meeting the mirror with a piercing glare, a scowl splitting his forehead like fissures. He glanced down at his hands. He didn't recognize them.

“Sometimes, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice soft like mist over a cool pond. He felt the tingle in his hands again, as his thoughts turned back to the cold. “Sometimes, I think I might be too hard to deal with. What if I freeze the world by accident?”

He glanced up, returning to the mirror. Eyes that fractured with pools of water that slowly started freezing. Delicate webs of ice laced through the tear, then fell like snow. As Elias's emotions shifted, the snow began to fall again. Their size fluctuated with his breath. Larger when distressed. Shrinking as he calmed. The cascade was a barometer, tracking the slow, steady return to his inner peace.

“Oh, honey,” his mom said as she navigated into the nearest parking spot, ramming the car into park as quickly as she could. She leapt from the car, hurried around, and flung open his door. Kneeling, she wrapped Elias in a fierce embrace, pressing his face to her chest. The snowfall thickened as his sobs shook them both. The flakes were larger.

“Oh, baby-boy, what is it?” she asked, rubbing her hands on him as if he were freezing.

Through sobs, he lifted his face towards her, eyes dark, shadows deep. “Why don’t people like me? Am I bad?”

It struck her in the face like a gale of wind. Her breath caught as she stared at her beautiful little man. So intelligent. Always thinking. Always moving. She knew he struggled with the world around him, but did that make him difficult? Angry sometimes. Hard perhaps. Cold, maybe– but difficult?

Her heart broke.

She squeezed him closer.

He leaned into her.

The snow began to fall outside the car. It was smaller and gentler than before.

They stayed there.

She lowered to the ground beside it, closer to Elias. Her beautiful son. Embracing him until the sobs stopped. They breathed, inhaling the scent of each other. He smelled softness and love. She smelled his calm return. Peace and stillness reclaimed him. He lifted his head, eyes bright again like fresh ice, and watched it snow. Laughter pushed through, the sound like cubes clinking in a glass.

“Oops,” he said softly, then laughed again.

His mother glanced up and let out a soft giggle, gently cupping his hands in hers, hoping the warmth would reach him.

There was a special peace in snowfall, even beneath a bright sun. She watched shoppers emerge, faces alight with wonder, hands catching flakes in delight. She felt the same awe—not just at the magic in the air, but at being the mother of such an extraordinary child.

The flakes returning to a powder-like size.

She wanted Elias to feel it too.