Red As Blood, White As Snow

The blizzard seemingly growled around the house as it raged war against the earth. I reached for the quilt that she never put back in the right place. I chuckled as I thought about all the memories with her in this house. I could see her smile, hear her laugh, and smell her perfume that she wore all year around. Rose. I always thought it to be quite funny that she wore a perfume that was the same as her name. As the memories wilted away, I walked into the kitchen to make myself some tea. I put the kettle on the stove and I was assaulted with more memories flooding over me. I could see her dancing while chopping the vegetables when she thought no one saw her. The giggle that escaped her when I walked behind her and put my hands on her hips. The sweet soprano of her voice as she whispered to me on days that I couldn't focus. The whistle woke me up from the dream of her. As I set to pouring the tea I subconsciously picked her favorite cup. The corner of my mouth tipped up as I poured the water into the cup. The tea leaves bled into the water and took over the inside of the cup. I wandered back over to the couch and sat down listening to the war that was going on outside. The book that had been laid forgotten on the table was moved so I could set my tea down. It was one of her books that she loved to read. The kind about vampire and werewolves. She always had such a brilliant smile when she was able to acquire a new one. I picked it up in an attempt to read it but was distracted by the ghost of her who haunted my thoughts. Soon my eyes could no longer stay open and each blink became longer. I slipped to sleep hearing her voice drift through the house. 

I awoke from the startling silence that blanketed the house. The battle outside had receded for the moment. I stood up and stretched until my back bowed and cracked. I picked up my half empty cup from last night and set it in the kitchen sink. The glistening, undisturbed snow was blinding as I scanned the land. My head snapped back around as something crossed my vision. A red spot bright as the sun taunted me from the middle of the lawn. My breathing picked up as memories suffocated me like walls closing around me. The smell of her rose perfume, the scarlet lipstick she insisted on wearing, the blood that flowed farther down the road from the flipped car. Metallic, rust scent flooded my nostrils making my stomach roil. Before my thoughts caught up with my actions I was out of the door running to the spot. I could hardly feel the harsh coldness of the early morning. All I could see was the mysterious causality from the war that had erupted in my yard last night. I slowed down as I approached the marker. As I saw what it was, it stole the breath from my lungs. A perfect rose was left in the spot. Not damaged or broken but full of life. A tear trailed down my cheek as I sat befuddled wondering how a perfect rose was left there. Until I remembered that she never really left me. Call it a miracle but I knew what she was trying to say. Even when the war wages on around you, pieces of perfect can be found.