The Snow.

Snowy trees

A friend, aka The Professor, (from over here) showed me this picture a month or more ago, and I immediately had a story form around it. It’s taken me awhile to get it together, and I now have two very short stories based around it. They are quite different, but death takes precedence in both. Of course I can see the beauty and ‘romance’ in the scene but not being a chick flick sort of girl I take the darker road most times.
The second story is more chick flick, but death still shows it’s hand.

Short story 1.
She stood at the edge of the trees, looking out at the road.  There were no tracks, the recent snow had covered up last night’s trip.  But there was someone else here. She knew it. Her senses were rarely wrong. Him. Her job.  He was watching her again.  If she turned around, the house would be in view, and she would see him at the window. Peering, trying to hide, but also not seeming too care if he was seen.

He liked what he saw. She was dressed in a bright red coat this morning. Then he stopped, a frown crossing his face, that’s funny, she wasn’t trying to hide, no furtive looks behind, or sneaking behind trees.  He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, but he dismissed it quickly, just the sight of her was exciting. He liked the look of the red against the snow. A bright splash.  He could picture what her blood would look like, sprayed across the snow, something to brighten the stark and lonely winter.  A smile played across his lips as he left the window and went back to the wall of photos.  He had plans for her. And they ell ended with her body strewn across the snow. Pure white. Bright red. Beautiful.

She moved quietly, quickly. He had no idea of what she was capable of.  Her stealth was nothing of the likes he’d ever seen.  Her pretense of hiding had fooled him into a false sense of security.  When the time was right she would move, and he wouldn’t know what had hit him.
The dog appeared at her side, and as she looked up a dark figure came out of the trees.  She smiled and turned towards him.  They needed no words, but held hands and started to walk up the driveway.

Short story 2.
She lay in the snow, oblivious to the chill creeping into her bones.
Her jacket and pants had soaked through within minutes but her grief was such she hardly noticed.
Staring at the sky, she was able to blank everything out. The pain. The fear. The tears. There were no more tears. That’s what she kept thinking, but the next day they would come again. And the fear. Of being alone. No more anticipation of what they had dubbed ‘pick-up day’. The only picking up she did now, was herself. Each day. She told herself, like a child, “get up, get dressed, have you done your teeth, eaten a good breakfast??”
It had been six months, or was it longer, she no longer knew, and to some extent no longer cared. She hated that feeling, but could not shake it. Life went on around her as she existed in some sort of daze. A state of being, but not of participation. Her friends helped out, and she was sure she’d been rude, but they were still there. The kids were still going to school, they seemed to be coping. She had to take them away, go on a holiday. Start their family afresh. Make a new start. Maybe they would love somewhere new. That could be interesting.

A movement above her caught her eye. Moving her head she saw 2 figures coming towards her. Without a word, they lay down beside her, and with tears silently running down her cheeks, she reached out and held their hands.
They lay in quiet solitude watching the clouds and the branches move above them. The snow dropped from the branches and as one narrowly missed them something bubbled up inside her. She opened her mouth, not expecting or knowing what she was about to say, but instead a laugh came tumbling out. A strange hysterical noise that quickly turned to a laugh of great proportions causing her children to look in surprise and then join her.
In that moment she knew she would be alright. They would be alright.

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8 responses to “The Snow.

  1. Pingback: Sunday Short Story – The Cat | Coffee & Camera in Hand

  2. Magnificent, Jen.
    Just magnificent.

    Like

  3. Jen, do you write stories? Seriously you should. Just reading these little shorts felt like reading a snippet from a thriller, and I want more!

    (How did you know the house would be in view if she turned around? 🙂 )

    Like

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