6 feet beneath the frost, I stare blankly upwards, dreaming of the spring.
"Pushing Daisies" he called it. I think it was to comfort himself more than me.
There was nothing that could be done to save me, he said; but I could take comfort in knowing that from my desiccation, flowers would bloom.
To feed the earth- what a gift! The soil would grow rich with my blood and bones, and I would rise anew as the soul of the spring; like Persephone herself, bound to the underworld, bringing beauty to the land as the sound of cicadas rose with the sun.
It was cold, now. I was cold. The landscape above me was as barren as my breath. Together, we lay in wait for my transformation. For now, my flesh clings to me like he once did, pausing for a season, a whispered hope to not let go.
The snow falls steadily above me, and with what's left of my mind, I recall January days beneath the steely sky, his hand in mine, tasting snowflakes on the wind as we planned our eternity together. Forever seemed awfully short, now.
He's here, now; I hear his cries overhead, pleading with the earth to give me back; he knows it can't be done.
So, instead, 6 feet above, the snow grows crimson with his promise of forever, his last breath dancing in the fading light.
There will be no tomorrow for us.
Together, we wait.
Pushing daisies through the ice.
About the Creator
Christiane Winter
Science fiction, horror, and dark comedy enthusiast. I have been a GM for D&D for 10 years, playing for nearly 20. Like all aspiring authors, I have hundreds of stories, and almost none have been finished.
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Comments (2)
That's a beautiful write-up
Every word you write seems to flow off the screen to create vivid images in my mind!