It’s funny how when you look at snow falling all around you it appears that every snowflake is the same – a small clump like a miniature snowball. Lying on her back she watched it drift down toward the earth, resting lightly on her eyelashes before melting, and she could see the subtle differences in each flake for a fraction of a second and then it was gone. If only she could freeze each moment so that she could really study the intricate details of each flake like she could when making the cutout paper versions that she used to make in school. She’d give anything to have the wonder and innocence she had in grade school again. Actually, she would give anything to be anywhere else but here right now – lying on her back watching the cold Kansas snow fall like cotton as her blood stained the monochromatic winter canvas.
What was she thinking getting wrapped up in someone else’s drama when she definitely knew better? She should’ve kept her distance. She didn’t even know this woman ten years ago in college. What made her think she could save her? They were as different as the snowflakes sitting on the tip of her nose. So, why did she make this stranger’s battle her own?
The wind swirled the snow over her face until everything became a blur of white in a black sky. She wondered if this is how it felt to die. She could feel her body getting lighter, which was odd considering how the snow was mounting on top of her. She wondered if anyone would rescue her like she had attempted to do for the other woman.
