snowflakes

the ice took his life.

 

 

She missed the winter snows back home. Her old home in colder places. Colder places where her heart was warm.

 

This new place had too much sun. It stung and hurt. It was just a house; never a home.

 

She missed the way the snowflakes would land on her skin and melt, making her warm and cold at the same time.

 

Her father would be right there with her, in the snow. Watching snowflakes fall.

Roads turning into ice, he died because of that.

 

She watched her own snowflakes fall.

 

The way her blood looked--splattered--reminded her of snowflakes.

Author's Note

There's cutting in here, obviously.

Reviews

[Becky]

Woah.

I think I'm going to stop leaving such long reviews, because really, my first reaction to EVERY SINGLE THING YOU WRITE is just "woah." It really is. It just kind of slaps you across the face and you know it's coming but it surprises you anyway.

GAH. The metaphor with snow and snowflakes and spatters was just brilliant. HOW ARE YOU NOT FAMOUS.

Mkay, on to the next piece. You should probably start ignoring my creeping, as I'm only going to get more insane as I get more tired...