He stands in the middle of everything, facing outwards. It is snowing lightly.
It is snowing. I don’t like it. But, I live with it, because I have no power to change if it is snowing or not. Some people tell me I can change how I feel about the snow, though. See, an optimist would be happy it isn’t snowing any harder.
It begins to snow harder. He tries to move about for a while to keep warm.
That’s why I’m not an optimist. Confirmation bias has never done me any wrong.
He laughs at his own joke. The wind whistles
That’s the cure. I can’t laugh the snow away but the movement it creates in my face is enough to remind me that I can still feel my cheeks.
He forces a smile, and reaches up to trace the lines it creates on his face
I can’t – I can still feel my face. I can. But I can’t tell you what this face means to me. If the tip of my nose were to be bit off by the bit of frost that follows me wherever I go, I would die. Not literally, never literally. But the insecurity of being so deformed…
Compassion strikes him. He stops in his tracks
Not to say any difference in form from what the Western media has declared as ideal is wrong – I think you all are beautiful. You all. Not to say I’m special, I just keep different standards for myself. I’m not special. I’m not gifted. I’m not stronger or better or nicer or hotter or cooler or smarter –
It continues to snow harder, and harder. He has to shout over the howling wind
I’m different. Not enough to value my own life though, clearly. Look at where I am.
He isn’t talking about the snow
What is that supposed to mean? God damn –
The wind howls, and then begins to slow
I do this thing sometimes, where I get too introspective and contemplative and end up making myself sad for no reason.
It is snowing lightly again. His feet are frozen to the ground
The cold is an interesting weather. The most educated in the room must hate that sentence – grammatically incorrect, vague, and absolutely unnecessary. Just like the cold. Here’s why it’s interesting to me: it hurts. The cold, unlike any other weather, subjects me to pain. The rain does not hurt me. The clouds do not hurt me. The wind, alone, does not hurt me. Not even the Sun hurts me, but for the times I am not protected. But nothing can protect me from the cold, not completely. It strikes me in my bones, unlike anything else – physical, emotional, or otherwise. Maybe that’s why I subject myself to it.
It begins to snow harder. The snow covers his boots.
It moves to consume me, now that’s interesting. Wasn’t hurting me enough? You’re greedy, whatever god put this pain on me. Do you hear me? You’re greedy and you don’t know when enough is enough – answer me!
Nobody answers, obviously. The wind whistles
Obviously. Obviously – that means clear as day, right? Now tell me, what time is it? Daytime? Nighttime? Noon time? Teatime? It isn’t my time, that’s for sure. That time only comes when this damned snow finally takes me. And that isn’t just yet.
It begins to snow harder. The snow reaches up to his calves
You know what might take our mind off of all of this? A song.
A sad song starts to play
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Okay? Something else.
An angry song starts to play
A foreboding song starts to play
A frustrating song starts to play
A happy song starts to play. He’ll like this one.
Look! It was meant to be – a happy song. I think it’s a sign! Things are looking up after all.
It is snowing lightly. The snow licks his knees
This isn’t so bad. I can’t feel my feet, but then again neither can most Americans. Obesity is a modern day black plague, you know. I really do suppose I have a lot to be thankful for
The surface of the snow begins to melt
I’m a healthy, young man. I’m in school, hopefully I can turn my undergrad into an entry-level job with room to grow. Entry level… I’m not so sure. Maybe I could stay for my Masters? Postgraduate studies are going to be par for the course in a few years anyways. But the money, and the time, those are things I don’t have enough of.
The surface heard him. It begins to freeze. The snowing ever so slightly intensifies
The more I think about it the more scared I get. Good thing I can put it off forever
The surface has frozen solid. A rabbit runs across it, and stops in front of him. The storm is coming
Look at that rabbit run – hey little guy! How are you going?
The rabbit bites his finger, a couple drops of blood spill onto the snow. The wind exclaims in pain and protest
God – god damn. I tried. I had a pet rabbit once, and she never bit me. But you did, little rabbit. Why? I thought all rabbits were good. My rabbit was good… I guess everyone is different
Do you really believe that everyone is different? That people have unlimited potential to surprise you and surpass expectation? People will always let you down
I don’t really believe that. My rabbit did bite me a couple times, I just chose to remember all the times she didn’t. They were right; it looks like I can control my feelings – well, my thoughts. Thought precedes emotion, my acting coach taught me that.
The snow is halfway up his thighs. I think he might notice the problem he’s about to encounter
Once it gets to my… manhood, we may have a problem.
I told you so
I wonder what I can do now. If it keeps snowing like this I’ll be out of the gene pool by the end of the script.
It’ll be well before then. I think you know how the script ends already
I can’t move. And it isn’t about to stop snowing. It was bound to happen, you don’t willingly stand outside in a snowstorm unless you have a – well, you know.
Well, I don’t know. Tell them.
I have a death wish. But being suicidal doesn’t mean wanting to be dead right now, right this second. It means wanting to die by my own agency. I was hoping with you all here that I could keep my mind of it until the last minute but I guess someone just wants to get right down to business.
Well excuse me, then. Would you rather I was the main character?
Keeping my mind of it wasn’t wise anyways. If it wants to snow, let it. That’s my agency speaking. I’m choosing to be here, to stay here – to die here.
You’re bringing everyone down
I’m glad I’m here, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy, like this. It’s closure. To get to be certain that I can tell you all my dying thoughts brings me… not joy, contentment? Comfort? Whatever. I’m not a writer
He laughs at his own joke
He shivers, sexually. It begins to snow harder
The next few inches is going to be extra unpleasant
Few inches? The wind laughs at his genetic misfortune
It isn’t like I was considering mating anyways. You can fuck when you’re dead, said the necrophiliac to the… to the person. Look, I’m too cold to tell jokes now, alright?
That’s no excuse. The storm is almost here
My waist. Almost at my waist. What a… waste.
Too cold to tell jokes, my ass. I’m glad to see you’re at least still trying
You know what? I’m done trying. I’ve got a few last fuck you’s to give out before I’m gone, and I want you all to be here for them. First one: Dad. Both of you, first one first. Fuck you for hitting my mom. Fuck you for leaving my mom. Fuck you for even fucking my mom in the first place. How about that?
There are dark clouds on the horizon
And Dad numero two-no. Fuck you for controlling my childhood. Fuck you for making me cry more times than I can remember. Fuck you for making my mom cry more times than I can remember. Fuck…
The clouds are here. It isn’t snowing anymore – this is undeniably a blizzard
And my ex! Fuck you, bitch. Fuck you for cheating on me. Fuck you for making me have to turn to my friends and family for money because I had none left. Fuck you for leaving me so hurt and confused as to how to hold down a proper relationship that my current one feels like it’s falling apart.
The snow is up to his chest. He struggles to raise his voice considering the pressure of the snow impacting his chest.
I don’t even have the guts to break up with her. So I do this; I stand in the cold, and the snow, and wait for death to come and steal me away so she can break up with herself instead. You know she is the kindest person I’ve ever met? She treated me well. My ex didn’t. That’s why I thought I was in love at first. But now I don’t feel much of anything. It’s like my heart has frostbite
It does. The snow has reached his chin – he can’t turn his head. He proclaims his last words through gusts of snowflakes and over the howling wind.
My last words. I should try and come up with something really interesting to –
He’s buried. Show’s over, go home.