Snow White Winter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This story focuses on the obsession with winter and the end of autumn. Parental guidance is suggested since some scenes may not be suitable for children.

Submitted: March 11, 2008

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Submitted: March 11, 2008



A young man stands at his window, looking deeply at the snow that seemed to glimmer in the red sun. He would do this once a day, watching the day fall away as darkness comes. He loves this scenery, with its angelic-looking rays and literally unknown magnificence. His eyes twitch with the brightness, slowly shutting his eyelids, afraid of letting go of the beautiful visual images.
His wife enters the room. She is a beautiful woman, with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair. Her freckles almost cover her entire face, only they don’t appear repulsive to him, and instead, make her even more attractive.
She places her hand on his shoulder. He continues to stare out his window.
“What are you doing, dear?” She says.
“Minding my own business. Why don’t you do so yourself?”
She looks down at his hands that are resting at his lower abdomen.
“Why are you fidgeting with your fingers?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
The man becomes aloof. He watches the birds chirp on his tree. They come every day to eat the bird food he puts in the bird feeders that are hammered into the tree’s many branches. They are standing on their special branch, special because it the easiest location to pick the seeds from.
His wife lets go of her hand from his shoulder, “what are you thinking about?”
He doesn’t answer but he describes the birds to himself. Their wings are wide and brown with white spots. They flap as if their wings are leaves that have already fallen before the winter came.
Their beaks are sharp and cone-shaped. He remembers how they pricked at him when he was a child.
It was then when their raptor-like legs scratched at him and tore layers of skin off his arm.
Their feathers spread diseases.
“Why are you always standing by the window? You can have more creative recreational activities than this.” His wife asks him a question again. “Eat dinner please. It’ll get cold. I’ve finished my share about an hour ago.”
He doesn’t answer.
He hears his wife walk out of the room, not closing the door. He hears her walk to her room, enter that room, and slam that door shut.
The man returns to his window to watch the snow display its light again. He observes that some of the birds float down to the ground, only to return back to the special branch a second or so later. He also sees a cat sneaking around in the snow, looking up, leaving soft, quiet footsteps printed into the dove-like ground.
Because of the cat’s presence, more birds cover the tree.
The man stares as the birds from other trees come to the special branch as well. Soon enough, the entire tree, not just the branch, is covered in brown, white-spotted, moving leaves.
He opens his window in a rapid, hasty motion.
The birds don’t budge from the sound.
He walks to his bed.
He reaches underneath his mattress and pulls out a rifle.
He stands once again at his window and aims.
He shoots.
Leaves fall.

© Copyright 2018 June Lunare. All rights reserved.

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