His heart was under slabs of ice and sheets of snow.


Dispassionate is another one of my favorite words. It conveys almost a sense of being unconnected to human feelings that’s inherently different from words such as aloof or unbiased. You might have heard the phrase, “dispassionate gods.” I tried to play with that feeling a little here. Thank you.   

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The Winter King

Dispassionate (adj): devoid of personal feelings; impartial

At 27, Noah sits on the top of the world and is utterly bored.

He’s been running uphill for most of his life, concentrating on nothing beyond the patter of his feet on broken asphalt and the pounding of his heart beat. But now that he’s finally reached the summit, there’s a glass ceiling stretching out above him and he’s on display like some sort of show pony and he has to pretend he’s not desperately gasping for the taste of cool oxygen on his burnt lungs.

It’s so pointless he feels like laughing.

He has earned a long list of accomplishments. After all, he’s tried so hard to be everything his parents have ever wanted from him. University, graduate school, violin lessons, social gatherings, honor roll, everything passes by his head like some convoluted dream, and he’s a million miles away watching someone that looks like him act like the charismatic, bright son his parents have always wanted.

He doesn’t even know what he wants. He just knows it’s not this.

But he can’t do anything about it. So he just sits on the glass throne built for him, wearing an ivory mask, smiling at everyone and enshrouding his heart in dozens of veils and layers so no one could ever touch it.

He told his parents once before an important corporate meeting. He was 25, and had been the director of his family’s company for a year. That day, he had conveyed to them the words that had lingered at the tip of his tongue for so long.

He had finally told them that he was done. That he couldn’t take it anymore. That he didn’t want to do this with his life.

Three hours and a series of argument later, he was leaving for the meeting, the pristine tie around his neck strangling him like a noose.  

That was the day he disconnected.

He started operating his life on autopilot, ignoring the heavy vise of depression settling in his chest. It felt like his entire life was someone else’s dream.

He looked upon the world with indifferent eyes, seeing nothing that called out to him. Nothing that abated this clinging, desperate chill of loneliness. Nothing that felt real.

Noah sat on top of the world, the Winter King.

His heart was under slabs of ice and sheets of snow.

He wore an elaborate mask of aloofness and elegance and rationality and none of his smiles ever reached his eyes.

And one day, he was going to freeze to death.

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