Guardian Who (Not So Alone: Part 1)

Not So Alone: Part 1

327 years.

Well, it doesn’t look too intimidating when you put it that way.

Three hundred and twenty-seven years.

Now that seems to capture it a bit better.

Seventeen years spent in the company of a loving family, a warm village, and never really growing up.  Seventeen years cut short tragically one fateful day while ice skating on a nearby pond. A life for a life. Seventeen whole years, forgotten, all to be remembered one day now ten years in the past. Seventeen defining years that continue to permeate every. Single. Day.

And then three hundred years. Oh, how long that was. Three hundred years without a single soul to speak to. Well, a single person that would listen—could listen—not even the Moon. These were the loneliest three hundred years unknown to humankind. And yet, somehow, they had been pushed through, taken at day by day. But you just can’t go alone, unseen, for that amount of time and not be able to walk away without some sort of scarring.

And then, just like that, those three hundred years had ended. Gradually, at first. Four other friends, spirits alike, slowly coming together in a time of crisis. And then suddenly, one night, with a few snowflakes and a name. Needless to say, it took a tiny bit of getting used to. But in a good way. Those three hundred lonely years quickly became a thing of the past.

Or had they?

He sighed.

The most recent ten years had been some of the best. Visiting everybody was always fun. Each Christmas season, making a trip up to the North Pole to test out new toys or even help the big guy brainstorm. Heck, trips were made just to hear fantastic stories about brave Russian soldiers and girls who rode on the backs of giant geese, all with a goblet of the world’s best eggnog in hand and dozens of tiny elves sitting nearby.

And then Easter. Sure, it was fun painting eggs with the dear old Peter Cottontail himself, but he was the most fun to play tricks on. Never ceased to give a reaction, especially when some freak snowstorm really makes the egg hunts a hundred times more difficult than they were meant to be. But hey, the kids love it. And that’s all that matters.

Sometimes, when there got to be a little too much boredom and he couldn’t think of anything else to do, a tiny hummingbird-like fairy would zip by at just the right time. He enjoyed speaking with the little fairies—he had come to understand most of their chirping language over time. After a gift was exchanged for a precious memory, they’d fly together the whole way to the grand palace, where a lesson on the names of teeth or proper tooth care usually awaited him. At this point, he’d usually slip away while the Queen was deeply admiring a particular tooth, showing off its perfect curves, shine, and whatnot.

Of all of the ways he spent his time, he never missed out on the nights. Every violet night, right on the clock, golden streams of iridescent sand would flow down from high above, laden with beautiful, wonderful dreams. Not a night had gone by that he hadn’t stuck his pale white hand into one of the glowing threads, a dream pausing in its journey to swirl about him and briefly manifest into whatever idea it was carrying. No two children are exactly alike, so naturally no two dreams were ever the same. Much like snowflakes, now that he thought about it.

He smiled softly at the notion.

And then, he remembered the downturn that the years had taken lately.

He wasn’t nearly as alone as he had been for those three hundred years. But, back then, he didn’t really even have friends to lose, friends to ignore him. Now that he did, it seemed to hurt him even worse. Everyone was always so busy. Have to sculpt the new toy design, have to paint the rest of the eggs, having to ceaselessly command the army of tooth fairies, have to move on to the next town in twilight to hand out dreams. Nobody had time in their schedules for some snowballs and fun times.

There was his first believer, too. The first human who had ever heard him. Seen him.

Jamie.

He was all grown up now. Ten years does a lot to a kid. In the meantime, he himself had remained at the same age, forever physically seventeen, the wisdom and cleverness brought on by the centuries shining through only on occasion. The only time you could see his age was if you looked deep enough into his Winter-blue eyes, past the electric blue pattern of a snowflake, the deep love of fun, and the mischievousness.

Going back to Jamie.

The kid hadn’t stopped believing. That was a relief, at least. But he spent less and less time with the Winter spirit when he came to visit (even out of season), and it was tough to see him grow up. He knew that all kids grew up eventually. But this just hit him exceptionally hard.

All in all, these ten years had been great, but they were slowly sinking into something far more horrible than those three hundred years of solitude. Something far darker.

Far lonelier.

He sighed again, letting his breath reach such a chilling temperature that a few snowflakes accompanied it. He leaned a little heavier against his wooden staff, resting his temple against the base of the wide, sweeping hook. He swung his bare foot aimlessly, his reflection in the pond water mimicking his action. His eyes were focused up at the night sky, the black blanket dotted with the faces of a million twinkling stars. The Moon hadn’t risen yet.

He wondered if it was his destiny to be like this. Alone, just going around and frosting things over, handing out snow days and such. Being who he was. He had no problem with the latter. It was always a ton of fun and never got old. But the whole being alone part…

And then, there it was.

That feeling of a deep, bottomless pit; a void right in the middle of his heart.

Something was missing.

But…what?

He had all of his memories back. He knew how he had lived, then died, then been reborn by the Moon’s hand. And then he had been chosen as a Guardian, taken an oath to watch over the children of the world. He knew very well who he was.

He was Jack Frost, the spirit of Winter, the Guardian of Fun.

And yet, this gaping hole was still there. And it wasn’t just because of loneliness.

Before he could contemplate it any further, something blacked out a few stars.

He rubbed his eyes and searched the sky again.

Just as he was about to give up and write it off as a trick of his eyes, there it was again. It seemed to be on a destined path, flying chaotically and yet not so at the same time. It grew larger, blotting out more stars as it flew closer. He could make out its shape now. But…wait. There’s no way. This had to be the product of visual tricks.

Was that…a flying box?