The snowy white mountains were blindingly beautiful,
Reflecting silver light in all directions,

Transcending the summit into a place more scintillating than the sun.
All was serene, all was delightful, all was ravishingly stunning.

The dusk was near, darkness crawling out of confinement.
The lone skiers remaining were the Sherman’s,
Their minds innocent and curious,
Only with the upcoming supper in mind.

Jimmy could see Summit Lodge in the distance.
This meant food, so he looked over, sent Annie a smile.
Thud, snap, dead. In a red pile under a tree,
Life abandoned Jimmy’s eyes, and that ended it.

The Shermans had their supper.
Their appetite was none,
Their meat was dry and dense, almost as heavy as the weight
That entrenched their shoulders and their hearts.



As the sun rose the next day,
The summit was once again shining.
Most was serene, most was delightful, most was ravishingly stunning.
For today, the mountain was grossly crimson, stained with Jimmy’s blood