"You are dying," Ben whispered to the half-frozen starling, white clouds escaping from his mouth as he said so. He glanced around as if he expected there to be someone that could overhear him on the abandoned mountainside. With a cheeky smile, he added: "But I will tell you a secret. I am dying too."
The freshly fallen snow cracked under his leather boots as he made his way back to the cabin. He cupped the small bird as carefully as he could under his jacket, hoping to slowly raise its temperature. The black-feathered bird was barely breathing and his only sign of life was a soft twitch in his right claw. It was painfully obvious that if Ben hadn’t found him, this would’ve surely been his last flight.
The starling felt so cold and fragile in his hands, Ben was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to save the creature. But another part of him, his stubborn side, wouldn’t give up on the starling without even trying. Nobody, not even a little bird, deserved to die without at least someone trying to save it. The irony of that thought was completely lost on him though.
He draped the bird in an old towel and poked the logs in the hearth, flaming up the ashes. "I will take care of you now," he muttered as he held the wrapped bird close to his chest, hoping that his body heat would gradually warm him up.
It had been a long time since he had spoken out loud, he noted as he stared at the pile of black feathers. Ever since he moved here he hadn’t spoken to another living soul. And muttering to himself didn’t count.
Maybe having this little bird as a friend wouldn’t be such a bad thing. That was, if he could save him. He placed the bundled-up bird in his hat and placed it close enough to the heat so that he could slowly warm up. The young man rummaged through his cabinets, looking for something he could feed his new companion when he woke up.
"Tinned beans… Nope… Tomato puree? I don’t think so… Would a bird eat dried jerky…?" he muttered to himself as he scoured through his rations. It really was just a bunch of random food items thrown together.
He scratched the back of his neck and embarrassedly noted to himself that he should really put an effort into cooking some decent food and getting some nutrients into his diet. But then a dark voice in the back of his head whispered: Why bother?
"Aha!" he triumphantly exclaimed as he found an old pack of crackers in the far back corner of his cupboard. It was far too crumbled for him to enjoy, but this would be a perfect little snack for the bird.
He clumsily ripped open the package and cursed under his breath as crumbs flew all over his countertop. "Damn it!"
He quickly wiped the mess onto the floor and grinned as he could just imagine his mother scolding him for doing so. She really hated how he never properly cleaned up after himself and she was baffled that a dirty dish didn't bother him in the slightest. Anytime she reprimanded him, he would just shrug and wave her arguments away saying he would clean it up later.
After all, why wouldn't he? He had plenty of time and there was always a later.
That was before he was diagnosed with cancer and decided that it was nobody's business how his life came to an end. He didn't want his parents or little brother around. They would fuss over him, they would smother him, they would coddle him. His mother would go grey from all her worries, his father speechless in silent sorrow, and his younger brother would make death his acquaintance far too soon.
He vividly remembered how his mother had cried as he announced he wanted to spend the rest of his days living alone in their vacation home in Sweden. His brother had asked him if he could come and visit so they could play in the snow together, while his dad had wordlessly stared at him. But regardless of their reactions and protests, he had packed up what little he owned and had kissed his mother goodbye, promising to write her for as long as he could. The handshake he had gotten from his father had been one from man to man, instead of man to boy, and he appreciated it.
The one thing he regretted was that he hadn't been able to say farewell to his younger brother. Björn had been far too angry that he wasn’t allowed to go with Ben. So when Ben was saying his final goodbyes, he hid under his bed and refused to come out until his traitorous brother had left.
It was probably my own fault anyway, Ben noted wryly. It had been his choice not to tell Björn what was truly going on. He didn't want his little, innocent brother to know about death yet. That definitely hadn't made things easier for him though. There are many things seven-year-olds don't understand. Taxes, girls, and why aeroplanes stay in the air, are still mysteries to them. But there was one thing Björn understood perfectly: His big brother was leaving and he wouldn't come back.
He fondly looked at the picture on the mantelpiece where his family posed for their annual holiday picture. They were wearing matching sweaters and his mother had a spark in her eyes that had never returned after he was diagnosed. She had always been so full of life, but he knew that every moment she had to look at her dying son, it slowly killed her on the inside.
His father had a stern look. But then again, his father always had a stern and serious look on his face. At times, his mother would accuse Ben of being a spitting image of her husband and ordered them both to smile more.
Over the years, Ben had learned two things about his father: 1. His mother was the only person that could make his father smile. 2. After Ben was given less than a year to live, not even his mother could make his dad smile anymore.
He swiped his thumb over the picture of his little brother. Ben felt his lips curl up in a bitter smile as he wondered if Björn was still mad at him for leaving. He wondered if his little brother would ever forgive him for dying alone. After all, he had been his hero.
He cleared his throat and roughly shoved the frame back on the mantelpiece. What was done was done. He shouldn't reminisce and wonder about how things would've been if he hadn't gotten sick. What did it matter anyway? This year, he just wouldn't be part of the annual family picture.
The young man turned his back to his family and bowed down to check up on the starling. He placed one finger on the bird's feathery chest and found a slow, but steady heartbeat. And if that wasn't a good sign, the bird didn't feel nearly as cold as when he had found him lying in the snow.
He sprinkled some of the crumbs next to the pile of feathers and returned to the mess he left in the kitchen. He briefly considered organising his cabinets, but quickly discarded that thought and shoved everything into the cupboards, except for something to eat right now. He had been so lost in thought, he had forgotten he was hungry until his stomach grumbled in protest. He ripped a chunk from the stale bread and cut a nice piece of dried sausage for himself. It was only a little after 5 pm so he still had quite some time to kill before the darkness would fall and hopefully, the Northern Lights would show.
Hopefully, he would be able to see them one last time. After all, that was one of the main reasons he was here. To think. To be alone. To see the Northern Lights. And then finally, to die.
Ben shivered as the cold outside air clashed against his body. The difference in temperature was almost enough to drive him back inside, but he stubbornly pulled the strings of his parka tighter as he stepped into the dark winter night.
White clouds of air followed him as the fresh snow shrieked under his footsteps. Apart from nature's whispers, it was dead quiet.
Ben softly snickered to himself. Of course, it was quiet. Who else would be mad enough to go out in the middle of the night on the side of the mountain hill?
Nobody. Nobody but him.
He sniffed and coughed out a cloudling as he slowly waded through the freshly fallen crystals, hoping to get to the lake before it was too late.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on," he quietly muttered to himself as he jumped up and down to keep warm. He brought a hand in front of his face and peered into the dark abyss. So far, there was no sign of the Northern Lights, but if his calculations were correct, they should appear tonight.
They had to appear tonight. They just had to.
The dingy, foldable chair he had brought sunk deep into the snow and was rendered completely useless. At least he could use it as a weapon if a stray wolf decided he looked like a tasty meal. But apart from that? Snow: 1. Chair: 0.
Ben peered up, wondering if the sky had become lighter. Was it the Northern Lights? Or had he been standing here for so long that the sun was coming back up?
"Why are there so much freaking clouds?" he muttered under his breath, hugging himself as the cold seemed to have found a way into his jacket. He angrily kicked the metal chair as if it was at fault for the Lights not showing up.
As an icy breeze flew right through his vest, Ben was about ready to give up and return to his cabin and find shelter. But with the wind, a crack appeared in the clouds and suddenly the sky split open. And with the sky opening up, an endless display of colours appeared right in front of his very eyes.
The brightest of green with deep purple strands swirled through the night sky, illuminating the trees on the mountain side. Flecks of blue and red danced in the hauntingly beautiful stream of light as they reflected onto the frozen surface of the lake and cast a colourful reflection on the snowy landscape.
The shimmery lights waved and weaved through the stars, the colours danced and teased, all in perfect harmony. They were exceptionally angelic tonight and couldn’t be described as anything less than pure magic. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve been sure the heavens had opened up to bestow earth with a spectacle of pure elegance and grace. It truly was the world’s most beautiful ballad.
Left utterly speechless, Ben stared in awe and amazement at the marvellous display of colours. Any thought about time or the cold had long been erased from his mind. It didn’t matter how many times he had seen the Aurora before, they were always magnificent and never failed to amaze him. Ever since he was a little boy, he had loved the Northern Lights. There was just something so magical about them, but he wasn’t exactly sure what. They called out to him like they were trying to draw him in, trying to tell him something. And even though he knew they were far out of his reach, he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he reached up and stood on the tips of his toes, he might be able to touch them. But as he did, his fingers brushed through nothing but cold air and an unbearable ache filled his chest as he brought his empty fist down. The Lights were just beyond his reach and he would never be able to dance alongside them.
With painful longing, Ben stared up at the night sky, taking in as much of the display as he could. From all the things in this world, he would miss the Northern Lights the most. But maybe… He briefly wondered if when he died, he’d be able to become a part of the spectacle, but quickly shook that thought away. Why would an ordinary human like him be granted such honour?
A cold breeze grazed along his cheek and the thick ceiling of clouds closed. As soon as the Northern Lights appeared, they vanished. And as the lights disappeared, they left a cold and shivery human standing in the middle of nowhere, staring at nothing more than the ghost of what had been.