The thick snow of the vast ice plain dampens all sound so that the winds only whisper. The world is bleached, tinged with blue and as she hovers at the edge of the ice field she nods once, affirming that the way is clear. Stepping out on naked feet she dances from razor-edged peak to peak leaving behind dark smears of blood both as sacrifice to this land and as her way back. The cold protects her from the pain that will later fly up her legs.
When she reaches the center of the field, she kneels, touching her tattooed lips to the perfect canvas of snow that she splatters with more blood from three wide gashes she opens in each forearm. She spreads her arms wide and opens her throat to sing. All creatures nearby flee from the wretched sound. It is a song deeper than despair, the resonance of the pain of having lived past desired death, the pain of living alone unwanted by all in this world. Though she knows that she offends the creatures of the nearby woods, it is not they that she calls upon; it is not they that she calls home. Dancing and howling, spitting and growling, her throat raw and torn she gives all she has and as the last of the air in her lungs leaves her, she sees black eyes fix on her and watches as they grow larger, nearer. She collapses onto the ice packed ground and wonders if it is death or salvation that comes for her, or if they are in fact, one and the same.
Inspired by Trifecta’s word of the week:
FLY (intransitive verb)
1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings
c : to float, wave, or soar in the air <flags flying at half-mast>
2a : to take flight : flee
b : to fade and disappear : vanish
3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly