The Snow Monster

There was this tree that grew under the branches of another adult Douglass fur. I’ve walked past it over and over these past few days and noticed that it was dying. It stopped growing new green needle leaves and I felt bad for it. With my left arm, I moved the big branches of the adult tree so that light could get to it. The next day I did the same thing, and then the next day as well, and the next day, and the next...
Today though, was a strange day. I walked over to the little tree to lift up the branches of the other tree, like I did before. As soon as I looked up, my attention was brought to a silver looking thing, with other little things getting out of it. They laid logs on the piles of snow in this large forest clearing, and left. Strange, I thought, but they came again the next day as I was helping this little tree. They came with more silver things than before and I’ve heard them yell “house” and “truck”. Could that silver thing be a house or a truck? I wonder.
The next day, they came with more logs and tried to make them stand up. Weird, I thought. Why would they try to do that? The tree is already dead, so are they trying to bring the dead tree back to life? I don’t think that would work, but it’s nice to see them try. Maybe I’ll learn something new and bring all the other dead trees back to life. Yeah, that’d be nice to see these trees grow greener needle leaves.
The next few days were just the same, except I’ve learned that these silver things were actually trucks, but what about that other word, “house”? I thought that maybe I could walk over there and ask, but they have these long scary sticks that go boom. I saw them yesterday with it. They pointed it to a small baby deer, and as soon as I heard a loud BANG, it died. I wanted to run over there and help it or maybe even bury it, but these little things are too busy trying to bring these dead trees back to life. Why can’t they bring this baby deer back to life? They just stood there, made strange noises, and left. As soon as they went over the hill, I ran to the baby deer. I thought, what’s this? It’s red and it’s all over the snow. It was all over my hands and it smelled like metal, like iron. Snow fell from my face and I noticed that there was a large hole on this baby deer. I examined it, but I didn’t touch it--I never wanted to touch it. I picked up the baby deer and headed into the forest. As soon as I was close to my home, I dug up the snow and dirt, and buried the baby deer there. I picked up a stick and stuck it there, to mark where it has been buried. Then I looked up and gazed upon the many sticks. Moose, deer, wolves, and even bears were buried here and that I’ve found around the forest. They all have the same hole on their bodies.
The next day, I found out that they were building a house. These little things said “house” over and over again while pointing to this pile of logs. I spoke softly, “house?” Again and again, I said the word, “house” and I couldn’t quite get it right. It always sounded a bit off, but I’ve kept repeating it over and over to myself. I thought that maybe if I learned how to speak to them, like I’ve learned how to speak to wolves and bears, I could tell them that killing is bad. I could tell them that it’s not right to not bury the dead. But, what if they kill me too? If I die, who will look after this little tree and after the forest? I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t talk to them.
A month or two passes and the house was completed. It was made entirely of logs and it has this see through thing too, several of them. When the little things left with their trucks, I approached the house and took a peek inside through this see through thing. I was amazed at how many things I was seeing. There were red things and blue things and white things and shiny things too. I thought that maybe I could go inside, and then I’ll be able to touch and feel everything that seemed so interesting and strange. But no, I shouldn’t. I’ll be trespassing and I’ve never trespassed before. I know how the wolves feel about their territory, so maybe they feel the same way.
A few days pass and there were no trucks in sight. Maybe they’re going to build another house somewhere else, I thought. Hmm, what if this house could be someone else’s home? What if it is a home? Like my little cave? Could someone really live somewhere really strange?
The next day a truck came by and stayed there, even after sunset, and even in the morning. Oh! What if someone’s living in there right now? I was tempted to walk over there and check, but what if they carried those long boom sticks? So I stayed here instead and watched. I liked the house, the house is nice.
The next day a little thing came out of the house, but this time it was even smaller, maybe even half the size of the other little things. It made a little ball out of snow and rolled it around the house. As soon as it stopped, it looked over at the woods and stared at me. It’s not carrying a boom stick, I thought.  Maybe it won’t hurt me. We exchanged stares and it went back inside the house. Did I scare it? Probably not.
The next day, as I walking around the forest, I heard a faint yell, “monster” it said. It came from where the house was and I ran over to the edge of the forest to see what was happening. “Monster!” it said again. It changed its place, so now I’m running a little more to the right. “Monster! Monster!” It says again as I got closer and closer. As soon as I was sure that it was behind this tree, I took a peek at it. It wore bright strange things of strange colors.
“There you are, you monster!” it said, “I saw you yesterday in the woods and I was uh, I was um wondering why y-you were just stand there” it paused, “so, what’s your name? Do you have a name? My name’s Henry, what about you?”
I just looked at it and wondered, what is it talking about? These new mix of words have me confused.
“You don’t have a name? Oh I know, I‘ll give you a name! Hmm, you look kind of blue, and you look really tall. I know, I’ll call you Cyan! My friend already has a dog named Blue and I don’t want him to think that I was copying him” it paused, “You don’t talk much, do you?”
Then I heard another yell that came from the house, “Henry” it said, “time to come back inside!” then the little thing left. Henry, I thought. Is that what it is?
The next day, as I was helping this little plant, Henry appeared holding two white things. It came to me and said that it was hot chocolate with marshmallows. It gave it to me and it felt, weird. Like, not cold. “You drink it, like this” it said as it lifted up the white thing to its face. I looked into this white thing and thought, how very strange. It smelled very nice and it was brown and had tiny little white things in it. “Go ahead, drink it” it said again, then it lifted it up to its face again. I lifted it up to take a small sip of it, and it was delicious. In a few gulps, I finished it. It made me feel weird, but nice. “I could never finish it like that” it said, “It’s too hot for me”
The next day Henry brought more white things, and I’ve learned that it was hot chocolate and that the white things were mugs. As soon as it gave me the mug, I drank all of the hot chocolate. Then it questioned why I was holding a branch. I couldn’t speak to it, so I just stood there nervously. “Is it because it needs light?” it said.  I nodded. “Oh cool, you’re a nice monster”
Months and even years passed by and Henry grew up, like the little plant. These past couple years were pretty much uneventful, but full of nice hot chocolate. I recalled these nice drawings he did of us and of the one I put in my cave. The first drawings, he pointed at which ones were me and which ones were him. Occasionally, he’d write “friends” at the top and he’d read it out loud. Sometimes I’d try to copy what he says, but I always seem to fail each and every time “Don’t worry” he’d say, “you’ll get it right”. He used the correct colors for us too, and even the ones that wolves couldn’t see, and I was impressed. I’d smile at him to show appreciation I’ve had for them and he’d smile back. But he changed. He’s not like the Henry I knew before.
Today, Henry sat across from me and gave me a mug full of hot chocolate. “This’ll have to be your last cup, Cyan” he said. He didn’t have one for himself, and left before I could finish my hot chocolate. When I was finished, I waited there until nightfall to return the mug, but he didn’t come. The next day, I waited in the morning, but he still didn’t come. I thought that maybe he’ll come in the noon, but he didn’t. Maybe he’ll come tonight, or the next day, or the next day, or the next day…
After years of practicing my speech, I can finally talk fluently and without pause. “Henry” was the first thing I’ve said out loud, and not under my breath, “where are you? Where’s my friend?”