Snapshots- Prologue

  When I was alive, the immaculate snow would fall from the dark sky. The moon was a silver coin behind thin grey clouds. The stars hid from sight. The sweet smell of the flowers we called Muerte poked at my nostrils. It was freezing but I got used to it. It was a creepy place where a deathly silence pervaded. No one ever lingered outside. No man or child or dog or cat dared to make a sound. Everybody either worked or studied in complete silence. My dad told me that this had been normal for fifty-six years. I was seven and this was still the scene. But a few months later, a lot had changed.

  People crowded outside. Children swarmed the narrow streets. They played, shouted, cried and laughed together. Sweet laughter always resonated now, replacing the deathly silence. The villagers' grim expressions evolved into wide grins.

  But the peculiar weather was still the same. The white snow, the harsh coldness, the huge moon, the hiding sun, the fragrance of Muertes—they still remained. Yet the village wasn't a monochromatic painting anymore. The old days were buried in memories now. Yet I believe that the past would come to haunt the living.