She threw another log into the fireplace; the sparks flew out angrily as if blaming her for disturbing their steady and peaceful existence. It had been a cold, white and bone-chilling month, and getting colder by the second.
The icicles of memories had formed on the roof of her frozen mind, shining like diamonds and menacing like sharpened daggers, hanging over her head. She welcomed the sweet release and hoped a shard would break off from the ceiling and pierce her skull. Crimson trickle from the wound color her red.
Hoped the white snow would bury her still blue body.
By Sulekha Rawat
Written for Wordy Wednesday at B-A-R!
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