The Snow fell lightly in London, leaving the streets silent in the dark of the early morning. Inside a decrepit old Post Office, a family of Snails, two elder and one younger, curled together in a pile of snow. The two elder Snails did not move a muscle, whilst the younger barely wiggled, clinging to life. Hovering over them worriedly was little Sprit. His ghostly hands shook as he gently tried to coerce the Snail into moving away from the falling snow.
“Sprit, you can’t help them.” Grey said, his voice strangely distant and soft. The spirit of Inspiration was nowhere in sight.
“Says yea! I got away from death, why can’t they?” Sprit whispered, his voice cracking as tears start to roll down his face. “I don’ wanta go! This isn’ like Death, yea both just vanished and now I am too!”
“It’s not death Dear. But we can’t stay like this. Not anymore. The world isn’t as Black and White as many once saw it to be. Grey and I, we have to go. And now so do you.” Blue’s normally cheery voice was soothing, if a bit broken and gurgling. Sprit sucked in a breath on instinct, a habit he had long kept.
“Do… Do yea think someone else could use this? It’s really handy.” Sprit asked, lightly tapping his bag.
“I’m not sure Sprit. Maybe someone will find it. But we can’t be sure dear.” Blue’s voice responded. Sprit, slowly took off his bag and gently set it next to the Snails.
“We don’t have much more time. Neither do you.” Grey’s voice responded quietly, slowly fading from the world.
“Just remember Sprit, no matter how this ends, there will be those who remember us. Who love us. We lived a full life.” Blue’s voice said, as she too vanished from the world. Now quite alone Sprit, didn’t hold back his sobs and let the tears flow from his eye. His ratted hat held firmly in his hands Sprit let the icy wind blow about him as his form began to shimmer and fade away.
“I know.” Sprit choked as he watched the smallest snail cease moving, it’s little life ended by the cold. Memories of kind faces flashed into his mind. Of the Elf Doodle, the old God Sycamor whom Grey deeply cared for, Of Allison, Bunny and many more. But Sprit let his memories rest on a forest, filled with starlight and Dream catchers, and a young girl with gorgeous dark hair and a kind smile. Gently, Sprit placed his hat down over the dead snails, and looking up into the pale morning light, vanished upon the wind.
As the morning light breached the broken Post office, there was nothing left of Sprit’s spirit. Save his ratted bag, empty of parcels and messages, His worn and well loved hat, and a single message, written upon an old piece of paper.
