Icy statues, minutely sized, whirl specter-white through bitter cold
and inside with her entrance. Tussled strands fight vehemently,
they streak vengeance across red...red, red blood haphazardly smudged like
badly worn rouge.
Her face, white - the white of hasty retreat or stumbled flight in angry
winter. The white of a sick-humored clown complete with
menstral-blooded cheek.
Wildness in her gaze and wild tattered feet stained from sharp rocks and
bits of thorny weeds beneath such a porcelain doll blue cotton hem. The
hem splattered dark by winter snow and something thicker, something
darker. Something which frolicks in rivers down her sweet nightgown and
pools gently along the swell of her breasts and protruding mother
stomach. A stomach made fat and bulging by his unknowing semen, but more
loved by that dripping plasm than her body by his own sacrificial hands.
Hands...hands handshandshandsGraspingclutching
Hands reach for her, charitable smiles forced into sleepy lips, and
questions mounting behind their eyes. Sounds engulf her, chatter, grunt,
squeel, chatter. She cannot hear them. Her ear is bleeding, damaged, and
the blood clots noise out (she remained unable to hear her own screams in
the end).
A twisting inside, like first cramps or a bad dinner. Gutted and crawling
through her stomach, the leech of pain encompasses her.
A cry from her lips and the faces surrounding her turn, confused. The
hands withdraw. A parady of movement surrounds her, really quite funny
if she were in the mood for humor, as the faces swim closer, then,
disgusted, shrink back. Thoughts crowd in her head...the faces
have no body, and isn't it odd how the snow has filled the room with
white?
and at last, her smile. A beautiful smile. Free from wincing, her teeth are mostly missing and the red colored lips more burgandy than she would have wished. But a beautiful smile still.
The faces don't notice. Too caught up in their moment of triumph and
embracement they don't see her smile, the gift her face has given her. And
them. They don't see the flush of blood on white.
Her smile fades, a dusk shadow without moonlight. She has realized just
how alone she is, even here.
still alone and hurting