Blood Red Snow

Wolfy Dalfyry

SCREEEEEEEE
It is a normal December first. Just like always, the trees are stark, caused by Autumn, and everybody is either preparing or are already prepared for the holidays and cold months ahead with gifts, a tree if they celebrate Christmas, and the like. If people wish to have fun in the cold, they're either buying or have bought winter clothes, such as jackets, scarfs, hats, and similar things. Meanwhile, other people are buying fairy lights to hang on Christmas and have a much-larger-than-you-could-fit-in-your-house tree in the middle of the town square. And with that, the first few specks of snow sprinkle the ground, thus marking, the start of winter.

You remember when you were a child. You used to love the snow and Christmas, running downstairs to look outside, get your warm clothes on, and romp around in the snow. You were just like the other children who had a good life. You made snow angels, you helped decorate the Christmas tree, you got your presents. At least, you used to do those things before your thirteenth winter. After that, the holly jolly season was tainted. Why? Your family was murdered on that day.

Yes, that fateful day, Christmas, was the day of your parents', sister's, and brother's death. It was supposed to be just like another holiday. You were the youngest, of course, and thus you had the most presents. The night before, at your curfew, you tried to sneak a peek at them, but your parents caught you, just like always, and sent you off to bed, playfully scolding you while guiding you upstairs and into your room. Your mother gave you a kiss on the forehead, and your father assured you that the next day would be filled with fun. As you laid in bed, you tried to predict what you'd get. Perhaps that remote control race car? Or maybe, since you had become of age in November, your parents would finally, finally let you watch a thirteen and up movie? Whatever your presents were, you couldn't wait for them.

Nine AM. Running downstairs. Being greeted by your parents and older siblings. Ripping wrapping paper apart. Cheer. Running outside with them. Making snow angels. Making snowmen. You thought, 'What fun!' A stranger. A gun pointed at your family. Blood red snow. The gun pointed at you now. Sirens. Police yelling. An arrest of the killer. An orphanage. It all happened so quickly, you didn't know what was going on. Until someone told you. Your family, your parents, and siblings, the ones you loved, the ones who had taken care of you for your whole life, the ones who had seen all of your accomplishments thus far, were dead. They would never see you graduate from high school, they would never see you get married, they would never see any of your further achievements. They would never see you smile once more. Even if they could see you, they would see that the smile was gone. Replaced by a permanent grimace.

Hate.

Fury.

Grief.

The corners of your lips were drawn further down when your own children, your own wife, the ones you were taught to take care of, the ones who you had loved dearly despite your grouchiness, were killed. Right in front of you, this time. You thought 'Hopefully it won't happen again.' Giving your children their gifts. Running outside with them. Making snow angels. Making snowmen. A stranger. A gun pointed at your new family. Blood red snow. The gun pointed at you now. Sirens. Police yelling. An arrest of the killer. A memory brought back.

Hate.

Fury.

Grief.

Those three emotions were felt on that supposed-to-be fine day by you, and likely other people who also had their family die at that time. But those three doubled down, due to the double murder...........

Today's the day. Christmas. You thought, 'I might as well try and rekindle that childish love.' You step outside. It's... Beautiful. Families are walking around the neighborhood, children are playing at the playground, schools are closed to allow said children to be with their families during such a great time. Maybe... You can finally be at peace with the holidays......

Walking to the park. Seeing the children run around like you used to. Asking the parents if you could play with their kids. Confirmation. Fun. Making snow angels. Making snowmen.

Love of the holiday.

Happiness.

Joy.

Then...

Fear.

A stranger. A gun pointed at you. You thought, 'At least I'll be with my family again...'

Blood.

Red.

Snow.
 
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