Gray

     The clouds cause the sunlight to be white, cold, unfeeling, not warm and golden. Snowflakes fall, slow and gentle. Meandering through the air and to the ground where they melt on wet sidewalks. The twins hold hands, sitting side by side on a bench, eyes scanning the place around them. It is eerie, their similarity. No other children approach them, no one wants to play with them, and this is the way the twins like it. The children now know better than to go anywhere near the identical brothers.
     Eventually, the snow begins to stick. The flakes continue to build, creating little mounds. Not enough for a snowman, but enough to jump in, causing flurries to fly. The twins look up, and open their mouths in unison, tongues outstretched to catch the frozen rain.
     What is the feeling overcoming the atmosphere of the playground? Though the children do not call it depression, desperation, sadness, melancholy, this is what it is. It is characterized by a creeping lethargy, slowness. The twins wear dark coats, matching one another, staring out at the other children with a strange sort of sadness in their eyes. They do not see the pinks, reds, blues, greens of the other children's coats. Bright colors are not something the twins can comprehend. For their entire life has been fogged over by the exact feeling slowly making its way across the playground right now.
     Play ceases. The children stop their motions, movements. They stand, stiff. An intense urge to lay down overtakes them. It would be nice to curl up, wouldn't it? But that is the danger. For sleep would mean being exposed, and the snow would continue to fall. Eventually, their bodies would fall cold. Eventually, they would not be able to stay awake even if they wanted to, and their blue tinged limbs, their dark purple fingers, they would fall. Frostbite.
     The twins stand.
     They are not at a playground. They are not children. They are two brothers, identical and grown into young adults. Each one holds an ebony handled umbrella, staring out at the stones marking each death. Marking each grave. The somber feeling in the air overtakes them.
     As one, they turn and walk away.