The door shuts, the echo resounding across the landscape. A clean, unmarred coat of white stands before him. Powdery white flakes drift soundlessly from the heavens, thickening the pale blanket’s grasp upon the world. He stands there motionless for a moment, contemplating his existence. With a shrug, he thrusts his hands in his pocket and steps off the porch.
With each stop he burned a trail into the snow, destroying its fragile and tenuous hold upon its perfect sheen. When he had passed, a clear imprint of his passing remained, embedded into its heart. The beautiful white landscape muted the sounds of the world around him. An eerie quality, he noted as he trod into the night. Through the muffled sounds of the city he plodded, the sound dimmed but the light amplified, displaying him to the world in all his melancholy splendor. The sojourn continued as he wandered, once with a purpose, then simply for the sake of his own whims. He marveled at the spectacular beauty of it all as he passed trees encased in a cocoon of ice, homes lined gracefully with mounds of snow, and the flat icing of the world. With each step he marred its beauty and though it distressed him to do it, he continued, plodding forward, disheartened yet intrigued with every step. With a smile, he stopped, not caring particularly where he was or when even, not even the how of his mindless meanderings seemed to thrust itself forward into his thoughts at the moment. He was happy. Content, at least.
His steps began once more; his destination known but his route still unconfirmed, developing even as he placed one foot down before the other. With each step he surveyed the world before him. The dim grey of the night sky, not the deep pitch scattered with diamond pinpricks as he expected, greeted him. He wondered how grey he must seem. He seemed so colorless to himself. He shrugged again and trod on. His path turned and grew, and still he walked. He must have walked at least two miles out of his way, yet he didn’t seem to mind. The cold bit into him, the snow’s stinging moisture chewed into his feet through his footwear, and the stiff wind brought tears to his eyes. But still he walked. Just as before. The adverse conditions seemed not to thwart him. He warned himself not to dally lest some slight befall him, yet he plunged forward, content to walk. Content to wonder. The pressing nature of his mind took hold over the simple features of his senses, and he was also content to ignore them. His tolerance was high and his thoughts were great.
These things he thought of consumed him. The beautiful and the terrible. These visions made him tremble in joy and in despair. He looked back at the road that had brought him there.