Falling Snow

  As her consciousness slowly evaded her, Inês wondered if there was any better way for a weeb to die than in a truck collision. Lying on the hard ground, she felt nothing. It had been a hot summer day in Porto and she was on her way home from the conservatory; her lesson had run late and her father couldn't come pick her up like he usually did. She wouldn't have taken that street on a normal Tuesday. Now, she thought, she would never get to go to Japan; visit the Tokyo Tower or Asakusa Temple, stroll about in Dōtonbori, or get her picture taken at the Kiyomizu-dera.

Her father was a kind man. She didn't have anyone but him, and he did all he could for her, always taking her to and from her music lessons. He would probably panic when she didn't make it home on time. She hoped he wouldn't feel guilty; this wasn't his fault. That ice cream truck had come out of nowhere, and she was singing when she should've been paying attention.

She could only move her eyes when she heard it: a sweet, soothing melody; something like a lullaby. She'd heard it before, but she couldn't remember where. This version went slower than she knew. Maybe she was losing her senses. Then, she saw it: white, a glint of chrome, and a blueish glow. After that: black. When she came to, the tiled Portuense street had disappeared beneath her. The ground was soft and bitterly cold. Blinking, she felt snowflakes on her long, light-brown lashes. Indeed, it was snowing. Realizing she could now move, she sat up. The vast forest around her was blanketed in a heavy layer of snow. She wasn't in Porto anymore.

Inês got up slowly. She felt no pain, not even discomfort. She thought it was weird, but she didn't dwell on it: the world around her was weirder. The lush, dark green forest was laced with white. Wind made the trees dance for her as she advanced cautiously. The sky was awake, still shining with an intense silvery tone. She couldn't see the sun. The young girl wasn't dressed for this weather; she was wearing a linen button up shirt and a pair of corduroy pants. At least she had on her trusty Doc Martens. In her earthy tones, and with her pale, alabaster skin, she fit perfectly in this mysterious tableau.

“Is anyone there?!” she called to the void.

Her breath misted before her. She awaited a response, but none came. She trudged onward, stepping over roots and ducking under bowing branches. Other than the wind and trees, the forest was eerily silent. She didn't see any animals, nor could she hear them. Maybe they were hibernating, she thought. A sweet odor, something like French vanilla, emanated from all around. It should've been pleasant, but she found it unnerving. The snow falling on her was soft and ice cold to a hot degree; it burned almost. And, after turning around a large Cedar, she saw it: a form standing a few steps ahead of her. It was small and shadowy, bulky and bizarrely shaped, like it was hunched over. She couldn't quite make it out.

“Hello?” she asked.

Again, there was no response.

“Hello?” she was pleading, now.

Thinking she'd have to get closer, but being wary still, she moved toward the figure, always making sure to leave some vegetation between the two of them. If she still had her phone, she could've used the flashlight, but her pockets were empty. Keeping her gaze fixed forward, she progressed. As she got nearer, she realized what she was looking at: a young boy, maybe eight to ten years old. He was wearing some kind of straw cape; she'd seen a coat like this in manga and anime before – a straw raincoat, like the ones worn by travelers. Thick and stiff, it murmured in the wind. She felt more at ease now, but not by much. She continued, looking for the courage to speak up again, but she didn't have to. Once she was only a meter away, the child seemed to take notice of Inês. His face illuminated and he turned to face her.

“It's a cold one, today, isn't it?!” he said in a cheerful tone. “I was making my way to the shrine when I noticed you. Will you join me?”

“The shrine?” she repeated.

Where in the world had she landed, she wondered. Trying to get a clue, she looked at the young boy more closely. He seemed Japanese, with beautiful brown eyes that didn't blink. Under his mino, he was dressed in a plain kimono and his head was protected from the snow by a conical straw hat. Oddly, he wasn't wearing anything on his feet despite the harsh terrain. He didn't seem bothered by it, though. Inês wasn't sure where he'd come from or how long he'd been standing there: around him, the ground was unmarked by footprints.

“Maybe I hit my head and I'm just seeing things…” Inês started hesitantly. “But, where are we?”

She had an inkling… but it couldn't be.

The boy looked up at her from under his kasa, bearing a bright grin.

“Why, this is Japan, of course!”

Inês had only noticed it now, but the falling of the snow seemed to slow down whenever he spoke.