Winter

In the middle of the 'no man's land' of a previous war zone, a lone tree stood bare of its leaves and its usual cheerful outlook. It was tall, thick and deeply scarred with the horrors it had faced. The air was ice cold, almost as cold and distant as the old man standing under the tree, bundled in his warmest clothes. His jacket made a swish sound as his body shook with shivers. The ex-soldier's soul was almost as dark and tainted as the sky.

The wind whispered and swirled around both tree and man. It whirled around them in a stingingly icy caress. When the air went still, so did the man. It was as if the quietness and stillness was the calm before the storm. It reminded him of his days out on the battlefield; when all was quiet and the soldiers at the back waited in dreaded suspense for the noises of shooting guns and painful wails to erupt. The wind roared dangerously to life. Once the wind had quieted down, snowflakes began to flutter innocently towards the already snow covered ground.

Each snowflake that fell was uniquely and intricately beauteous. When he was younger and still believed that a God existed, he believed that such an amazing creation as snow could only mean that life housed happiness for everyone at least once in their lives. Most people saw snow as a simple form of precipitation, but in the past he had seen it as much more than that. He saw that each snowflake was different, no one snowflake the same; he saw that people were just like snowflakes - each uniquely made. He saw snow as a form of white purity. It fell from the heavens to remind humankind of the beauty that was around them in a time when most chose to stay cooped indoors in front of fires and with cups of hot coffee or tea. He frowned as he thought about how he used to stare out of his bedroom window as a little boy, rapt as the little crystals fell on the first day of winter. He was naive enough then, to even contemplate the idea that the world held enough evil that thousands of...