The silhouette of an attractive young woman clad in scarlet. Looking up at the somberly-starry sky above, his mind could no longer discern reality. His consciousness would, time and again, start to languish, and the weight of his dusty woolen sweater would slow his bony frame of a body down. Piling up were the sweet reminiscences of the time he’d spent with this woman... and of course, the deadly snow, The White Devil impeding his every attempt at moving forth.
“Oh! How I long to be in a place, I remain unbeknown… somewhere deep in the woods bound by solace and in her warm embrace… ",
Sozzled in such musings, he was imperceptive of his plight. All the staggering had caused severe blood loss, so much so that his face appeared to be whiter than the snowflakes he was covered in.
“Oh! Dear Carmine...” he murmured as the words echoed in the abyss,
“…If only I- “
The sun was only beginning to set, whilst painting the whole sky in a jolly auburn. The Ebullient Christmas spirit spanned the town, and the resonant wind chimes reverberated vigorously as they were being hung in the tiny wooden houses of the working-class men. Several streaks of light then percolated and pierced through thick clouds as though they were needles coming out of half-knit fabric, reaching out to every nook and cranny in the town. Lurching down on one of these nooks-was he; panting excruciatingly?
Stabbed, shot, bruised, and beaten to almost death, he had accidentally been caught in the crossfire amongst the factory workers and the authorities, which had just culminated in the former’s interest.
Staggering on his bleeding toes, he noticed several calluses spread wide about his feet, the sight of which made his head fuzzy. Like a dilapidated car, he floundered through- obdurately clinging on to life and flickering hope. He repeatedly reminded himself of the sole warmth amidst chilly winter winds: The bright red amidst the ominous crimson. Several droplets of fluid trickled down his cheek, all coalescing inside a questionable indentation beside the parting of his chipped lips. Unfortunately for him, a gust of wind flew right past him, rubbing salt on his already hurting wound.
It was time. The sun was haplessly forced to the periphery of the horizon- marking an end to the most excruciating day in existence, or what felt like an eternity to him. The piled-up fatigue, the growing ineptness to rationale, and most importantly, the sheer number of open wounds; all but pointed out one question – would he reach her in time?
His feet were the first ones to cave in, only seconded by his tormented knees. The drenched knots of gnarled fabric along his shin and thighs appeared to be defective fixtures in a broken-down vehicle. With a thud, he avalanched on an uneven slope- letting out a feeble cry followed by a sharp veer to his left. Crumpled up like a piece of paper, he flailed and writhed in an ever so futile attempt to muster up the strength, an attempt to rekindle the last of the dying embers…
He'd finally succumbed in the face of unjust fatalism, and his mind was completely blank.
Facing left, the sight caught him off guard in a trice as he peered out with a nebulous vision. The lamp-post shone its light on top of the trail of blood he’d left behind and turned it into this vibrant orange he’d never seen before. It exuded the warmth he’d been desperate for and filled him with rapture. The picturesque surrealness and benignity redirected his consciousness to some place he remained unbeknown.
The dingy-scarlet blood, lying freshly atop the pavement cluttered with snow, and the reflection of light from the lamppost, stirred in him an odd yet nostalgic sense of familiarity. His head was now brimming with reminiscences and sweet memories. The panting had slowed, and the panic had ebbed as he tilted to the right in a comfortable position. The entirety of the universe abruptly then almost vanished…
“-could spend my final moments with you…”.
Looming out of nowhere was a Scarlet-coloured one piece swathed around none other than his significant other. She then gradually moved toward him and lay right by his decapitated body.
In the final moments of his death, he couldn’t help but let out a sad, feeble smile as he murmured-