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Fresh-Fallen
Snow
expression. I see the pity, dejection and grief scoring his face.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No. No”
Eyes wide and raising my hands to fend off the truth, I stumble
off the chair, bouncing into the wall, searching for a way out. I
double over; clutching my midsection, sinking to the ground. I feel
a wetness coat my cheeks.
No. No. No.
I rake my fingers through my untamed hair as my chest splits
open to the horror of reality that sets in. The pain is like nothing
I’ve ever experienced. Different to the localised ache of a surface
wound, this is throbbing; numbing; all-consuming, slicing my
insides and ripping me apart. Everything slows and muffles: my
pounding heart, my ragged breathing, yet the bustle of machinery
and workers continues on somewhere in the background as if they
don’t quite exist in the same world as mine.
I can see the glass jars shattering, raining down in glinting shards
– my snow is falling.
12:00am
tick … tick… tick…
‘
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