Ember's consciousness wavered, caught between the ethereal beauty of the snowfall and her impending death. Dark, emerald eyes, hooded by crystallized lashes, blinked up at the languid dance of flurries. The woodland creatures, now displaced from their homes, fled in terror from the nearing, ravenous flames. Perhaps another human could have helped her. But Ember knew, as deep as the chill in her bones, that it was too late.
In the chilling embrace of the meadow, she lay waiting like a tragic snow angel; her sage green, silk nightie, once notable for enhancing her eye's vibrance, offering no defence against the biting cold. Dark, red hair sprawled around her, as startling as blood against the white ground, and her skin, once as pale as winter itself, darkened with a purplish hue.
But Ember felt nothing but reprieve as she lay there, the alarm bells that should have sounded in her mind silenced by the indisputable fact that it was finished. Over. And soon, finally, she could rest.
Shadows waltzed around her, a dance of life and death, as her consciousness began to fade again. Aptly named, Ember pondered the irony of her existence, wondering if her fate had been written in the stars that jeered beyond the thickening blanket of smoke-mixed snow. Nearing her last, visible puffs of breaths, Ember offered a whispered prayer through the winter wind, wondering what would kill her first; the raging inferno, or the thing she had loved most in the world- the falling snow.
About the Creator
Six Feet Under
Buried alive. What a horrible way to go. Yazz lay there, in her own thoughts. What else could she do? She was hungry, thirsty, tired, mentally, and physically exhausted, and more than anything, she was bored. She hoped she would die of boredom before anything else, anything else would've been more painful. Like many people had, she and her friends had talked about what they reckon the worst ways to die were, it was a morbid subject, but it came up every now and again. Yazz had always been one to argue her point on drowning, others had mentioned burning alive, slowly and painfully bleeding to death, hung drawn and quartered, and being starved to death. It was strange that none of them had considered being buried alive, it had never come up. But now, she was thinking back to those conversations her and her friends had had, how could they have not thought about it? It took a lot longer than the others, you were completely confined, you couldn't move or do anything, you just had to wait, until your body was physically unable to support a life system anymore, which could take up to four days. Four! By far the longest out of all of them. She recounted some of these conversations just to try and pass the time, anything to pass the time. It was difficult to know how much time had passed since she had been underground, it was difficult to know anything. There were many things that Yazz didn't know, she didn't know where she was, she didn't know how she'd got into the coffin, she'd just woken up there. Yazz also didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was, she guessed at Tuesday, it was Sunday evening when she'd been buried alive, intentionally, and although it had felt like weeks had passed, she was still alive, which means she hadn't died from dehydration, and therefore it couldn't have been more than four days.
By Liam Storma day ago in Fiction
The Piano
The home was full of the noises of people who were in their own world. Steady hums leading to screeching crescendoes. A random shout of a name. Mutterings. Flatulence, released unknowingly. The TV blared; some gaudy game show and a presenter with unfathomably white teeth.
By Rachel Deeming3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
The tragic snow angel is a perfect concept here. Nice work.