An Autumn Without Snow

possible au drabble

note: this was written and published at one in the morning

There was a year where a small town went without a single snowfall.

This was the year that the eldest citizen finally passed away. He was a total of one hundred and twelve years of age.

The man had little family left and those who were related lived nowhere near the town and were unable to see him in time. He was first brought to the hospital about three weeks before his death. He was a thin-skinned man with wrinkles that cascaded from his forehead to his chin. He'd been brought in by a manger after a really bad spill in the town's grocery, costing him a hip. His eyes were dulled in color slightly, but they always had a life in them. That was something the nurses always noticed and always made notes about on his medical record. Towards the end of that first week, there was a strange change in the man. His once friendly demur (a trait that had made him friends quickly in the hospital) fell away into complete silence. And for no reason. It bothered the doctors and they, along with their staff, would attempt to coax a few words from this man on a daily basis. But he said not a word.

But he would listen. You would come to him, you would sit beside him and you would talk and talk until you were all talked out and though he never said a word, you knew he was listening by the way he bobbed his head at certain points in your story. The man ended up staying in that hospital a lot longer than needed be. The doctors, still cautious of his now silent state, practiced techniques and exercises on him, hoping to find the source of his sudden mute.

It was around the third week, about four days before he died, that the man spoke again. He didn't speak to anyone in particular, no, he began, reported the nurses watching him, having full length conversations with himself. These conversations included expressive facial features, hand movements and pauses in speech as if he were listening to the other end of his conversation. He would have these talks in the strangest of places, mostly outside. When questioned on who he was talking to the man would reply, 'Oh, just a friend,' and say no more on the subject.

It was late December and the town, it was a small little thing nestled beneath a cluster of mountains, hadn't seen even the slightest hint of snow. To say it was alarming would be an understatement. The people of this town were used to long johns and hats in the middle of August and now, not a hint of a chill or a single shiver? In the middle of the coldest month of the year? It caused quite the pandemonium among the traditional folks, the young parents of course, not so much. Less snow, meant less snow days and less snow to shovel and walks to clean. But the elders and the younger children, they knew something was wrong. The conditions were beyond perfect, yet where was the snow? The Christmas that year was anything but white.

Not much was recorded during those last few days. There were many emergencies, mostly of drunken cause as was common during the time between the winter holidays and New Years. The man was still his quiet self, for the most part. His conversations had gotten more involved once the holiday ended. They lasted from one to four hours and one could even sit in on it and watch as the man talked to himself, sometimes even getting into the hottest of debates. But the strangest part of the whole thing was, every conversation ended with the same final three words. Once they were spoken, the man was done and quiet again. That was another thing, the man was unable to be disturbed during the conversation. It was like someone had flicked a switch, and once those three words were spoken, "I do believe," the switch flickered back into its regular position.

The last conversation was held on midnight of the thirtieth day of December. Jamie grinned a gaped tooth smile at what would appear, to be the window of his room. "I'm ready now," the elder man said, his tone wasn't the least bit remorseful, "I've paid my dues and I'm so lonley."

The only other present for this conversation was a young girl from the Child's Wing down the hall. She'd been up to fetch a glass of water and use the ladies room. She was nothing more than five years of age and was suffering from a rather bad case of mono. She would later tell her own doctor, that she'd a really strange sound when she passed the elder man's room. 'It was like a whisper,' she would say, 'Like, so quiet I had to strain my ears, but it was a voice and it talked when Mister Jamie stopped.' She would then go on and say that towards the end of the conversation she saw a soft glimmer, like a shape in the corner of her eye, but she hadn't been sure. It could've been her eyes playing tricks or an overactive imagination.

It's just about midnight and Jamie's ready to go.

"I can't do this anymore," he sighs, causing a small tremor to run through his body, "I appreciate everything you've done for me. All the friends I've made, all the ones I've loved and the success I've had, I owe to you." There's a stop and the man nods his head, "I know but I can't do this anymore. Please understand, just let me go."

There's another pause.

The man, who'd been sitting quite still in a small chair before his window, stood and placed himself in bed. He wrapped the thin covers around his frame, but his eyes stayed open. "I know," he says again after a moment of silence.

The man yawns, "I do believe, Jack. I always will." Then he closed his eyes.

In the morning, beside the bed which held the late man, was a thin layer of what could only be frost.