Winter Blood

Coming Soon

This will soon become a story, but the mini version is for a contest.

--+--

Winter is cold, ruthless. Cruel in every sense of the word. It embodies the death that comes with ice covered hearts, the brokenness that a frost can bring. Winter is not beautiful. Winter is dark.

He was cold, ruthless. Cruel in every sense of the word. He embodied the death that comes with his ice covered hearts, the brokenness that his frost could bring. He was not beautiful. He was dark.

He was the winter of my life.

It was December 4th when it began. Snow had covered the ground, blanketing the grass that had achieved growth, no longer green and lush but brown and dead. I should have known. His eyes were the color of ice, blue and frosty, deadly in every sense. They had every luring quality that made them beautiful. Deep. Passionate. Intoxicating. I remember staring into those eyes on December 4th, watching his slender fingers lend me my first cigarette, taking advantage of my youth and insecurity. I was sixteen. He was twenty.

"Light it up." He said, raising a brow as I eagerly took the carcinogenic substance from his beautiful fingers.
"You're going to put me in jail." I had replied, and the smirk on his lips fell. He lifted the lighter to the cigarette, now between my lips.

"Only if you're dumb enough to get caught."

I had flinched. But he was perfect, I thought, icy eyes and dark hair, trimmed so it fell just over those eyes. He was always running his hands through it to push it back. I should have known from the first time I had felt his chill, the echoing ruin he brought that he would ruin me.

"I won't be," I wanted to impress him. He smiled, and ran a hand though his hair. I swooned.

"Good."

--+--
Winter is a demon.

He was a demon.

I knew that. His ways were full of rage and hate, demonic values that made me cringe. But I hadn't cared. He was worth more than anything to me. I remember telling myself that, over and over again.

The snow was falling on December 7th when I ran away with him. My window was open. Snow was falling into the room, lacing my floor with an icy sheen of what was simply water. But to me it was a reminder of what laid outside that room. Freedom.

A wolf whistle signalled my escape cue.

I remember my shirt, thin and sheer, ripping on a shingle as I met who would be my own winter.

"Thought you wouldn't come." He smirked, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the van he drove, painted, and clearly made simply to draw attention, like everything else he did. When I saw the beer in his hand I should have run.

"I'm not a chicken." I answered, standing in front of him. The empty hand reached to my face, cradling it and then moving away from it.

"It's too bad you're a good girl." He mocked, narrowing an eye. He was a beautiful boy in every sense. I wanted him.

"I can be a bad girl." I whispered, though he was already focused on the snow flakes in my hair.

He cocked his head.

Leaning in to my neck, I felt his breath, icy where it should have been warm, cascading down my neck. "You'll have to prove it." I should have heard his words. But I didn't. I felt them.