Snowflakes, Spirits and Murderers

January 2, 2018
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I gaze over my cold pale body, lying lifelessly, I see that there is a crimson red gash on my forehead dripping slowly onto the icy white snow and my small petite nose that I have inherited from mother has a huge bruise around it and is swollen. The snow is twirling and swirling with such beauty and an aura quite angelic, it reminds me of feathers fall gently to the ground. Its irony isn’t it? My terrible fate in such beautiful weather. The snow looks exactly as my favourite poet George W. Bungay said ‘ Snow falls like white petals from the flowers that grow in the cold atmosphere’. It dawns on me, as clear as crystal, that I am no longer alive. No longer living. I am a spirit – the spirit of my former life. I feel dizzy as though I have taken to many prescription medicines, as if this is all an ill dream. Suddenly I hear voices. Loud voices. It’s piercing and sharp like when a knife cleaves cleanly through melted butter; my ears have a bubbly feel to them like when you are underwater and my vision is disorientated.  Familiar voices cloud into mind and I realise that the voices are members of my family.  My mother, my father, my dear sister older brother are here for me; jumping out of our ‘1953 Chevrolet Corvette- the pride and joy of our lives. We are always told never to slam the car doors but now it seems that rule has been forgotten as they slam doors and run towards my body. I run towards them running as fast as I can to my dear mother, I run as fast as a runaway train, as a fast as a speeding bullet, as fast as the wind. But… my family run past me in fact through me as if I am not here. I turn around slowly and gaze at them huddling over me. A woman appears – I hadn’t noticed her earlier but I guess she was always here. She runs to my family looking… well ….her forehead was creased; her skin deathly pale almost like my corpses’ skin was, and her deep blue sapphire eyes were filled with fear and pain. She held a handkerchief in one hand and a phone in another waving it franticly. As she tells my family of how she found me beside my crashed up car and instantly called the ambulance and my emergency contact (my mother), I intently study at my family’s faces trying to imagine what they must be thinking. My mother’s rims of her eyes were red, bright red with salty tears like liquid silver or like a unsettled stream gushing over boulders; her beautiful face was crumpled up like a paper ball and her hands were trembling like a leaf about to fall of a tree, I want to reassure her tell her I am alright but. I.I can’t. My dear sister, only aged 11 is always good at keeping her cool but he face shows the opposite. She is shocked. It is written all over her face. Lilly’s hairs is as gold as the fruits of autumn and looks stylish and pretty as is styled as if she is unstoppable and strong but her posture is small and weak and she is snivelling on my mothers arm. And my brother, my older brother who is mostly a pain in the back but whom I know loves me is standing there as pale as a ghost, his mouth open in a perfect O. I don’t think he is processing with his surroundings and what is going on. Opposed to my father. Father is the most sensitive one in the family, yet no one would know. With his hair cut precisely and his well-groomed moustache you would never assume he was the one crying every Christmas morning to ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’. So likewise he is crying, and sobbing as if he would never stop it is obvious he is distraught and upset. My whole family were. Sudden;y a thoughts enters my mind like a flash of lightning -how did I end up beside car- someone must have taken me out? If that did happen, why did they leave me and not stay with me. Another question quickly  entered my mind - who were they?

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CRASH! The ancient yellow 1969 Volkswagen Beetle skidded across the ice-kissed road, 17 year Rose Swan tried to take control of the car failing miserably as she crashed into the grand oak tree on the side of the road. All alone with no one to help, slowly bleeding to death, thinking she was all-alone in her final moments but was she really alone. Screaming and shouting, the pain seeping through her body as she cried out in agony; little did she know someone was watching her crash deep inside the thick woods, waiting for her to crash….






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