Children of the Cold

You loved the smell of rotting flesh.

It was an odd obsession; you’d never felt this way before. But suddenly, it was all you could feel. The corruption filled your nostrils like poison fumes. What was doing this? You almost didn’t care, you just needed to find the source. You needed your gratification.

You gently rub the burn mark on your right hand. Your mind flashes back to a memory. A memory which you couldn’t recall. Despite this you were certain it was a memory, nothing could replicate that sense of familiarity. You stand alone at the edge of a cave, looking out into the forest. A fire dances behind you, flickering blades of light at your face. The fire. Something about it didn’t sit right. It was as cold as a dead body. You turn to the fire, letting its light glare in your eyes. You reach out to touch the tips of the flame. Cold. Suddenly, the anomaly ended. The heat returned, quickly burning your hand. You snap back, but not before the flame could dig its blade into your palm. The start of an obsession. But not the right one.

You needed to go further back.

Your mother had said you were born on a particularly cold Wednesday. Snow fell down on the village like the tears that brought you into this world. An oddity, considering it never snowed on Wednesdays. Despite the obvious omens, your mother was still happy you were born, which could not be said for the rest of your town's inhabitants. ‘A curse,’ they had called you, and that was before they had even seen your form. When they did, they realised you were the most disgusting creature they had ever seen: worse than any devil, any demon; You were a human. Your mother couldn’t explain how it had happened. There were no signs that you were not born of your mother and father, for you had his nose, and her eyes. But you were still there. A human in a village of chillborn.

Life was a struggle at first. You were not built to withstand the frigid conditions, and the chillborn had no motivation to help. Your mother tried her best to keep you warm; She made clothes for you, lit fires, wrapped you in her embrace. But it wasn’t enough. The cold was beginning to get to you.

Your village was near the peak of a mountain, with snow berating it from all sides almost every night, except for one of course. The trek down would be difficult, but you almost felt it was necessary. How could you continue living like this? It couldn’t be done. You had heard great things about human life. Every morning before the village woke up, you walked towards the cliff overlooking the town. The sounds of humanity filled the air. Children playing in the park. People chatting as they walked around town. You smiled as you listened, because it sounded like paradise. Chillborn don’t even laugh.

You planned your escape for Tuesday. They would be all too busy preparing for the day of no snow, that it made it entirely possible for one to slip out unnoticed. The repercussions were clear. Chillborn had been in hiding for hundreds of years, and you were going to be the one to threaten their security. It was dangerous, but necessary. Even telling your mother was too much of a risk. You hoped you would somehow see her again.

Your descent began slowly, but quickly gathered pace. There was no time to waste here. The frost bit at your fingers as you scrambled down the side of a steep hill, hands digging deep into the snow. You quickened further. You were almost running now. You let yourself free, realising the rest of your life was only a few minutes away. It was time for your true birth. Your mind washed away any notion of stress, muscles in your arms relaxed. The first mistake.

Footsteps sounded bluntly in the snow.

You stop. Surely, they hadn’t caught you already. You thought your plan was perfect, how could they have? The footsteps built. Not one, but many. You were getting surrounded. You thought yourself foolish for thinking you could escape. Chillborn would do anything to defend their race, they would even kill their own. You weren’t even that.

You duck into the corner of two rocks for cover. The footsteps were sounding all around, but didn’t seem to be getting any closer. You knew they would kill you if they found you.

And then you knew you were already dead when they started whispering:

A corpse walked up the snowy hill,
not knowing we were still
watching and waiting
for the regret to kick in

You got up and ran, ignoring the fact that their whispers spoke of a corpse walking up, when you were going down, and ignoring the human man who began running only metres behind you.