Author:
America Murray "Rikome"
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Date Posted: 17:42:16 12/15/03 Mon
Author Host/IP: pcp01003216pcs.ladson01.sc.comcast.net/68.58.214.70
SNOW FLOWERS
by Rikome/America Murray
One day she went out and it wasn’t snowing.
And Megami stood outside, casually drumming her fingers against her thigh. It wasn't snowing, and she was wondering whether to be saddened by this or not. One drop, two drop, three drop, four... The words weaved themselves through the rhythm. Drum drum drum one drop two drop three drop four...
Megami decided that she really didn’t care that it wasn't snowing. She also decided that she didn't even want any more. All the snow that they had gotten was dark and gray and dreary. It was the kind of snow that reminded you of the homeless guy under the bridge and the garbage in the street. It was the kind of dirty browned snow that made you hate winter, as it sloshed into your boots on the way home.
It was the kind of snow that you hated looking at, but did anyway.
You did because it was the only thing you could look at, the only thing different. And Megami found that it was better off that the snow wasn't white. White like the room. White like the robes. White like the floors and the halls and the little bracelet that they put on your wrist. White like everything that was in Megami’s world.
--the drumming stopped, but the rhythm still ran through her head. One drop, two drop, three drop, four...
Except for the flowers. The flowers weren't white--
Drop one drop two drop three four...
--they were never white.
The flowers were perfect. Sometimes they were small, sometimes they were big, and sometimes they changed. But they were always perfect and beautiful. And they were always growing about her...
...like a field of red poppies... there was a poem about that once...
She smiled as she watched them now, scattered about her feet. When she was young, they would always die. Just like everything. Everything always died. Especially flowers, especially in the snow. Oh sure, some would come back, but they still were gone. The frost still won, always.
But not this time.
One drop, two drop, three drop, four...
This time the flowers grew. In the snow--in the muddied, dirtied snow--they grew.
And they grew beautifully.
She smiled as she watched one grow now. A dark, red bud sprouting out, covering the dirt and gravel and the tar with its scarlet petals. Oh, how she held her breath at their color. Small or big or in between-- the colors were the same, always. Always the perfect, scarlet color. She never fully realized just how beautiful that color was, how amazingly wonderful the dark red was until her mother showed her... until her mother showed her how wonderfully these flowers grew. Beautiful, beautiful... one drop, two drop, three drop, four...
Megami crouched down and smiled at her handiwork. She had made these flowers, she and nobody else, and this time... this time they could not take it way. They had gotten-- no, they had taken, everything-- and said it was her fault. But it wasn't true. None of it was true.
They just hadn't understood.
But there was no time to think about that now, because the flowers were getting paler. They were dying, and she wouldn't let them die, she wouldn't... they had covered the snow so beautifully...
One drop two drop three drop four...
Funny, she had never realized how wonderfully pale her skin was...
She fingered the blade, admiring how well it reflected the skin, watching it turn red.
"One drop, two drop, three drop, four," she counted, and watched as the flowers multiplied in the snow. Beautiful, bloody red flowers, growing so fast... she imagined them covering everything. The dirt, the snow, the white walls... everything.
One drop, two drop--
So what if more dirty snow came? Megami laughed, it wouldn't bother her.
three drop--
She could stand here making flowers all day.
Four.
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