Recently, a large quantity of the cursed white sand has been deposited onto this land of Minnesota which is forsaken by god. Thankfully, the prophets and soothsayers employed by the local television stations under the title of “weatherman” were accurate in their auguries, and I was able to plan in advance of these storms of so-called “snow”. A team practice occurred on the day where the demonic precipitation was most violently being spewed from the hell-clouds, but I was able to convince the coaches that I was sickened by influenza. I spent that day huddled under many blankets and occasionally peeking out the windows of my house at an outdoors that was beset by Satan’s evil sand.
However, a few days after the hellish storm ceased, I was unable to make sufficient excuses to get out of a teamwide commitment to visit an elementary school in a poverty-stricken section of town. I love meeting with the small children. Their joy of life fills my heart to overflowing with a similar joy. But to have these excursions in the dead of winter, when the cursed white sand lays heavy upon the land, is folly.
Nevertheless, I was compelled to wrap myself in multiple thick layers of jackets and scarves in order to step outside on that day. After riding the team bus to the school, I ran as quickly as possible into the school building, as I am aware enough of the tendencies of Minnesotan children to know that they are fond of the ritual known as “snow-ball fights”, where projectiles of snow are hurled as weapons towards their foes. To get directly hit with a snow-ball, even with my many protective layers of clothing, would certainly cost me my life.
After we did art projects with the students, and did basketball drills in the gymnasium with them, and enjoyed a hearty lunch of rectangle-shaped pizza, fried potato cylinders known as “tater-tots”, and chocolate milk, there was “recess”. Recess is a set-aside period of the school day were children are allowed to play outside and run around. Since these children have all been tricked by Lucifer to find enjoyment in activities centered around the cursed white sand, there was much commotion as they quickly put on jackets, mittens, boots, and hats to prepare their little, helpless bodies for assault from the deadly snow.
I watched the proceedings from the safety of inside the school building. When I was asked why I wasn’t outside with my teammates, who were engaging in snow-based warfare with their new friends, I answered that I was sensitive to cold. That is not a lie, but it was not the full truth. The full truth is that if even one flake of the cursed white sand touches my skin, it burns me and poisons my bloodstream with its curse.
However, when I saw a child near the window lie down upon the ground and start waving his arms and legs, the ritual confused me. “What is the child doing?” I asked a nearby teacher who was overseeing.
“He’s making a snow angel!” she answered happily. “You’ve never made a snow angel?”
“No,” I answered, feeling very confused. How could a being as pure and perfect as an angel be fashioned from something as demonic as the evil sand? But when the child got up from the ground, I could see the outline of the angel formed in the snow, and the sight of it caused my sour mood to lift slighty.
“It is a trick, Gorgui!” I told myself silently. “That is no angel! It is a demon from hell! There are no angels in this cursed land of Minnesota where God is absent and Satan reigns over all!” But in my heart I did not believe the words that I had told myself.
The entire experience has left me very shaken indeed. I am still very careful to avoid any touch of the Devil’s sand upon my skin, of course. But what would happen if I were to attempt the making of a snow-angel? The thought fills me with fear, but also with curiosity. I must do more research on this ritual.