You stay like that for a time, unmoving.
You’re like a small child, cradling the little doll — or what remains of her — standing still amidst the snowscape.
Your skirt becomes damp from all the snow it’s absorbed.
You remain in that position, the snow continuing to fall on you, looking like it could bury you.
Finally, you notice it.
There’s a snow hut in the edge of your line of sight. As if seeking its warmth — or perhaps invited by it, you approach the hut.
However, there’s something you haven’t picked up on.
The snow huts earlier were huddled together, like a flock of birds in a particularly cold area leaning on each other for warmth.
However, this snow hut is by itself, as if discriminated against by the others, ostracized.
If the snow huts are the manifestation of fun childhood memories — then this one, so far apart from all the others, is likely something you don’t want to remember, right?
Though it’s been driven into a corner here, there are no features to distinguish it from the other huts, and so you approach without the slightest sign of caution. Without any hint of the sadness or pain that could await you there.
Your steps suddenly come to a halt.
Something pokes its head out from the snow hut you’re heading toward.
As soon as you see it, it fills you with a sense of disgust.
It is a bizarre creature, a complete mismatch to the lovely and bright field of snow. Something unpleasant and ugly...
You recoil and back away. Right before your eyes, this strange thing steps out from the snow hut with a swagger as if it owns the place, stomping through the pretty snowscape and dirtying it with shoe prints.
It looks somewhat like a woman.
An elegant woman, or at least one with a proper upbringing.
With a somewhat gaudy outfit and nicely coiffed hair. Giving the impression of refinery...
But the face is different.
It has huge eyes, opened wide, but with tiny pupils, just like those of a wild, carnivorous bird. A tapered nose, like that of a witch. On closer inspection, its hair and clothing look threatening, venomous, like a beehive or the angled legs of a spider.
You mustn’t get close.
It’s dangerous, poisonous. That’s the feeling she gives off, this sinister woman.
✦ ✦ ✦
She looks like a tall and gangly adult.
That woman, however, walks along willfully, not the least bit interested in you as you stare and then step back. It’s almost like she cannot see you. This woman roams here and there, without the least bit of consideration for you, as if she’s on a completely different plane of existence.
Your reaction is so dramatic. You tilt your face upward, clearly afraid of the woman, who is right next to you now. And then, you delve back into the snow. Your movements are dripping with certainty. Ignoring the fact that your fingertips have turned blue from frostbite, you continue working.
Finally, from within the snow, out pops a familiar stoplight.
That item that, out on that highway, crashed on top of you and became one with you.
Why is something like that buried here? How did you know that if you dug in this spot, the stoplight would be here? It’s baffling, but you don’t seem surprised at all, as if it makes complete sense to you.
You grab the stoplight with shaking hands and place the hole in its base over your head.
Like a costume. You put it on like you’re used to it, with the familiarity of putting on a uniform.
You then make the stoplight light up red, and suddenly, you faintly assert to the tall woman walking next to you, “Stop.”
On seeing this, the woman freezes in place, almost comically.
Rather than merely standing still, she is completely petrified.
Her leg gently lifted, in the midst of taking her next step, has stopped moving. Even her fingers and hair have stiffened.
Your entire body, still clad in the stoplight, gives off a strong sense of resistance.
Stop. Don’t move. Stay away. NO. I deny you. I don’t like you—
After displaying the red light, as if it were those feelings made manifest, you turn away quickly, the stoplight still covering your entire body, and take off. Still unable to see in front of you, your feet get tripped up on the cumbersome snow, and you clumsily topple over.
The moment you topple over, the stoplight cracks open and your body falls out.
Now that the stoplight has broken, the tall woman starts moving again.
You scamper away. Frantically and without looking back.
After some time, something unnatural appears before you.
All of a sudden, out in the middle of the blizzard.
It’s something that shouldn’t be standing out in the middle of the snow — a bed. A completely normal, everyday bed. Not a bit of snow has stuck to the top of it. It looks so warm — and without missing a beat, you leap right into it, bringing the comforter up to your head.
You curl into a ball, trembling.
Like you might do after seeing a scary movie.
Or like a child who has been scolded by their parents, left their toys on the ground, and reluctantly climbed into bed.
Like a child forcibly lulled to sleep, you close your weary eyes and curl up in the bed. Even in your dreams, you sleep. You hide yourself inside that bed within your dream. Like you’re sinking deeper in, further in, to the depths of the ocean.
Nearby — next to the bed, the tall woman is walking about. Like a neurotic parent making sure that her boisterous child has actually gone to sleep. Her two fiendish eyes move about in frantic circles. She peeks into the bed, and her manner suggests that if you appear to be the slightest bit awake, she’ll shower you with her inescapable wrath.
She walks about nearby the whole time, never going away.
Sleep is escape. It’s what one does to escape a terrible reality. But it isn’t a solution. When you wake up, you’ll have to face the people in your disagreeable family, school, or work situation again. No matter how deeply you sleep, reality is always standing right next to you.
There is nothing that can be solved merely by going to sleep.
The woman is pacing listlessly nearby, as if annoyed.
Without the slightest hint of love or concern, she watches you relentlessly, in order to make sure that you’re staying in your bed like you should.
She’s moving like she’s ready to snap at the slightest thing that might displease her — like smashing a cockroach that dared to appear, or ripping out a strand of hair that had a split end.
You desperately try to evade the horrid presence that seems to encircle the tall woman. However, merely hiding has no effect whatsoever. You search the bed, trying to keep the tall woman from noticing, to see if there’s anything that can be of use to you.
And then, you find something.
You thought it had disappeared a while ago — that tiny, blue-haired doll. Like a little child unable to sleep, you cradle it close to you. The doll, being pressed against your chest, gives an almost unnoticeable smile and changes form.
It’s hard to see beneath the covers, like the inside of a comforter any child might sparsely illuminate with a flashlight, making it their own little kingdom. With the smallest bit of light coming in, you realize that the doll has transformed itself into clothing.
Inevitably, girls forget about their dolls and instead get nice clothes for themselves to wear. They become fashionable, dress up, put on makeup... In that way, they themselves become the dolls.
In this way, young girls become adults. Confining their feelings and wishes to the world of their dreams.
You get changed under the covers. Squirming, like someone using this method to change into their school uniform on a cold morning. Preparing themselves to face reality from within the warm bed that still contains the remnants of their dreams.
Somehow having finished changing, you wriggle out of the bed.
You look just like the doll. A white kimono like that which the dead are buried in. Even your hair is like hers, now faintly dyed blue. Almost like a copy. Like how women seek to dress like a doll they cherished in their childhood.
The tall woman looks at you just once.
However, adults cannot see the value of dolls. She turns away in disinterest and walks off.
You let out a sigh of relief — and head for the snow hut you couldn’t get into before. You seem relentlessly curious about it. After making sure that the tall woman has gone far away, you step inside.
It’s clearly different from the other huts.
There’s a small spring in the floor. It’s a small pool of water, no bigger than the basin one might use to wash one’s face each morning after waking up. It’s viscous and has a strange color to it, like face lotion or eyewash.
People wash their faces in order to bring themselves back to reality. A girl learns to apply makeup and becomes an adult.
You gently touch the pond, which seems to be some sort of juncture.
The tall woman’s sneer echoes through the void, as if she’s making a fool of you.