Cold.

The cold bit into my skin as my eyes readjusted to my surroundings. Tiny snowflakes like microscopic shurikens sliced at my arm without injuring me, at most simply making me colder. I couldn't see. What I could see was covered by a blizzard that zipped past my eyes and swirled in a freezing inferno. But this path was familiar to me. I could not see, but I could feel, touch, taste, smell. It seemed my vision was the only thing hindered by this storm.

Without struggle I walked lightly across the snow, hands wrapped around myself to sustain some warmth. I was not worried about death in this place, even as the icy storm swirled and danced. I could not die here, no matter the circumstance. It was nothing but a dream.

I carried myself over the snow, walking under snow-ridden conifers that towered into the unseen clouds. Wind whipped past me and my hair flopped into my face multiple times. Still I pushed on.

Finally, what seemed to be a wall came into view. Not quite a physical wall, really. Just a barrier, where the snow barely dared to cross. There was grass - dry, dying grass that withered in the biting cold, but grass nonetheless. I smiled to myself, bringing my energy together to run at full speed and burst through the wall of snowfall.

I stumbled a few feet forwards, grass under the shoes I now wore crunching a little as I crushed it. There was no more wind, no more snow. As if the world was a hurricane, and I stood in its eye, calm amidst the center of chaos.

In this eye was a perfect, circular area. Conifers surrounded the place, their green needles barely rustling in a still, slightly warming breeze. The sun did not shine through dark, grey clouds, and the clearing was filled with a thick mist that parted slightly as I made my way to the center. The center contained a playground. A slide, a swing set, and a small pond took up this area, and eventually I walked on a manmade path of dirt that started abruptly in the middle. It was similar to a puzzle piece, in my eyes. Someone had taken the playground from its set and put it into this one, and fit it where it best fit, even though the rest of the puzzle didn't quite match.

The playground was not empty. Under the swing set were two children, a boy and a girl. The girl had dark hair like mine, and the boy had blonde hair. The blonde-haired boy was on the ground with his knees to his chest, face buried in his pale arms. The girl was kneeling next to him, mostly seeming concerned for him. Her eyes shifted over to me as I came closer, an almost watery consistency wavering in the blue of her irises. Similarly, water dripped down her face like tears from her eyes, tiny waterfalls down her cheeks. As she got up, her entire face became visible to me, and it was then that it could be seen the absence of a mouth beneath her nose - there was nothing but flat, pale skin that almost looked sickly. The color of death. The girl brushed some mulch off of her black leggings and met me a few feet from the upset child's place.

I spoke first, something uncharacteristic of me anywhere else. "Is something wrong, Marina?"

The girl, Marina's, eyes seemed sad, only adding to the tearlike waterflow down her face. She spoke normally, as if there was, indeed, a mouth on her face. "Tristan had a vision. I think it's what he's been anxious about."

"A vision?" I knew it wasn't quite abnormal for Tristan to have a vision, for past actions he'd experienced sometimes return to haunt him. It was upsetting to me, really. He was barely five, he shouldn't have such dark memories. However, if Marina was telling me about it, it must be something else.

Marina nodded. She seemed on edge, her small body almost timid. With her being the more extroverted, cheerful type, this was concerning. I followed her over to where Tristan sat, across the slightly cushioned wood mulch and to where he sat under a broken swing. It was his crying place, in a way - he always sat there when something was upsetting him.

I knelt down by his side and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Tristan didn't move, remaining curled up in a little ball. He was smaller than both me and Marina, so I was careful when I sat down beside him.

"Hey, Tristan, are you okay?" I tried to keep my voice soft and comforting. Tristan didn't look up yet, but eventually I heard his wavering, tear-ridden voice.

"...I-I don't know..."

Fair. I lightly patted his shoulder. "You wanna tell me what you saw? I can help you keep it off your mind."

Finally Tristan looked at me. His eyes were red from crying, drying tears streaked down his face. His lip trembled a bit, and one of his hands rested over his neck. When it slowly drifted away from it, what seemed to be bright red stitches sloppily sewn were revealed. Like a stuffed animal with its head having been torn off, and someone unskilled tried to put it back on. The seam was quite loose, tears in the skin overly visible and ripped. Some dry blood streaked down the bottom half of his neck, and a little bit stained his fingertips.

"I... yeah..." Tristan sniffled.

I looked down at him sympathetically, ready to hear what he had to say.

"I-I was... in the house..." Tristan started. "The new one, the one you live in. A-and I was s-standing over you... you weren't... you weren't..."

Tears welled up in his eyes again, and he choked on his words. Getting the point, I comforted him to skip over the scene he was trying to describe. Eventually he was able to continue.

"I t-tried to call s-someone... daddy's friend, I think. You know, t-the one he sees at work now?"

I thought for a moment, placing who he was referring to. "Agnes?"

"Y-yeah. Him."

"Alright."

"A-and..." Another sniffle. "I-I heard a phone ring in the other room... I went to see who was there, a-and... h-he wasn't m-moving a-and there was a lot of b-blood and... and then I just... I... I..."

I could tell he couldn't tell the ending, but from the way he rubbed his stitched neck and how his eyes were distant and horrified, I could guess the general direction it went. I frowned and patted his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, it's gonna be okay, Tristan," I said, attempting to comfort the child. "It was just a vision, nothing to be worried about right now."

Still he let his tears fall, shaken by the possible reality that had befallen his all-too innocent mind. Sadly I gave his shoulder an assuring pat before standing up. Marina was standing beside me, looking up with her watery eyes.

"I don't know what it all means." I could imagine an invisible sad frown on her face as she told me this truth.

I thought for a moment, sitting on the swing that was still working properly next to me to at least get down to Marina's eye level. My feet pushed me backwards and forwards as I absently swayed the swing. Eventually I exhaled. "No idea. Any idea why he had the vision?"

Marina shook her head.

I huffed. My hands found the chains on the swing, hitting my skin with a cold that wasn't quite biting cold, but simply caused me to flinch a little before putting my hands back on.

What could it mean? What could it mean? Obviously, it's telling that something bad is gonna happen to Agnes and I somehow. But whose eyes were Tristan looking through? Mazhun? That would make the most sense. But why did he call Agnes and not the police? Why were we dead in the first place, even?

I'm overthinking this. Aren't I? I shook my head. No. It's all good. Nothing's gonna happen. It's just a little dream, right? Yeah. I'm sure.

"Just... don't worry about it right now." I forced a smile at Marina and Tristan, who wasn't crying as hard as before and was now looking at me. I stood up from the swing, letting it sway with leftover momentum. "I'm sure it isn't anything for now."

Marina's eyes seemed to brighten up a bit, an imaginary smile on her face as she seemed to take that as an answer. "Okay!"

I smiled, finding bliss in her happiness. She and Tristan may be mysterious spirits that receive visions of the possible future, but they were children and my siblings first. "Go on and play. If you need me, I'll be on the bench."

"Okay, Taiga!" Marina raced to Tristan. "Come on, let's go down the slide!"

Tristan smiled, following his older sister as she climbed up the ladder.

I laughed to myself, wondering when that energy I should still have in me abandoned me. Everyone else my age was still making the most of their youth, playing at recess and being chaotic children like they should. I just didn't feel that anymore. It's been a while since I had. Maybe it was the ghosts. Maybe it was my life with Mazhun. I don't know.

I walked off of the mulch covered area and across the dirt path a few feet away to sit on a bench that sat there. There was a little gold plaque on it, but only the small, serif font words of "In Memoriam" still remained. The rest had worn off and weathered. I always wondered what it had said in the past.

The bench was a bit cold, but so was everything here, so I sat down on its seat and relaxed a bit. I watched as Tristan and Marina ran around, going from playing on the slide to tag to the swings (which ended up being quite short-lived by Tristan's will. Plus there was only one swing left). I felt at peace watching them, a sort of happiness I didn't really feel much in the waking world settling into my heart. I had always known I had them as siblings. I was only two years old when Tristan died, and younger when Marina did, but they visit me nearly every night. Maybe it gets lonely here for them. They were only kids, after all. No parental figure, no guidance, just them in this strange, winter-ridden world of dreams. It would get scary at times.

Sometimes I wanted to somehow bring Mazhun to this world. He's never been his real self since everything that happened before my memory. What that was specifically, I wasn't entirely sure. But I couldn't bring him here. I talked to Agnes sometimes, and I knew his concerns for Mazhun's mental health. I knew what he meant. I felt what he meant. I feel like he asks me about Marina and Tristan more than he asks me about... me.

The vision Tristan had described came back to my thoughts. I tried to push it away, but it haunted me like the ghosts that cheerfully played on the playground. It meant something, I knew it did. But what could it possibly be?

I decided to keep myself from dwelling on it much. Just watch the kids. There's nothing to worry about.

So I did.

-

1945 words (chapter continues in the next part)