All Under the Stars was Alabaster- Conflict Narrative

He was infecting me with the pity radiating from his eyes. His eyes now were just as empty as the mountain air. Those eyes used to cherish me. His pupils no longer dilated when he looked at me, his smile no longer infectious. Our chemistry used to warm our bodies and keep us going. His hands always found a way to mine, as my head to his chest. But, that had died on our way up the mountain. It froze slowly with every step we took towards the peak. Frozen forever in our icy climax. Nothing was happy.

The trees became blurred. The ground disappeared. Everything became one. A frozen blanket of white. The earth and sky were one, white and cold. The wind was no more. All under the stars was alabaster. I stayed on the porch for a midnight smoke. Solitary and far in my own thoughts I lifted my left hand and brought my two cigarillo holding fingers to my shivering purple lips as my right hand ignited the smooth lighter. All that existed in that moment was a click and spark from my lighter. Then the soothing soft smooth sound of the paper burning. Even the smoke was white.

I watched nothing. There was nothing moving, not a branch swaying. nothing was alive here- below zero degrees. I wrapped myself in a crochet blanket that allowed the cold in through its perforations. I couldn't tell whether this was meditation or depression. I sat there for thirty minutes before anyone would find me.

We had come here to celebrate our friends. To this cabin- to this mountain. Pre-paid and in a house full of warm bodies, I sat outside alone, the white smoke warming the tip of my nose. He came outside to see to me. I was frozen, infected by my surroundings.