Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop and its characters is the property of their respective owners. No violation intended.

Snowflakes

The feeling was gentle; penetrating every pore, every fiber, leaving behind a feeling of unsatisfied pleasure, of unfinished business. For him, laying on the cold ground felt strange, as he felt as one already death yet still living; sensing that everything seemed like a dream, but understanding that the feelings, the warm sensations, were real, like tender touches and soft kisses engulfing him in a way he had never experienced before.

Spike Spiegel could not remember how long he had been lying down. He recalled the sky, how it had remained dark, but he could not tell the precise moment in which snowflakes, light and vibrant, began to cover him, creating a contrast in symmetry, color and perfection he had hardly seen in his wretched life.

"Damn." He cursed miserably. The realization that he was still alive struck him. How ironic was this unfair twist of fate that promise to lead him to paradise, when in reality had trapped him in the most terrifying underworld he had ever lived, with every turn taking him to the same destination, the same pain. It was his fault, he knew, and despite his efforts to get rid of his former life, this was reluctant to let him go, trapping him into a labyrinth of uncontrolled passions and emotions. All because he felt he could not escape and he was damned for it.

It made sense to recall the events that led to this untimely demise, but unable to find any recollections that could have averted him for such a catastrophe, he finally gave up. The only imprinted memory still vivid was his assailant, coming between himself and his prey, foiling his plans and turning him into the hunted, the wild beast caught in a game he, unfortunately, was unable to perceive and had fail to predict. The hunted beast had finally being confronted, caught and dealt with. And it had all been his fault.

"I guess this old cat has more than nine lives after all?" a deep smile crossed his lips as the irony played in his head more than once. Oh but it hurt so much to just even force a simple smile, with the tension in every muscle on his face, no, on his battered body eating away whatever strength he still though he possessed. Was this warm sensation, so predominant now, the culmination of all? Could it be that, after all this time, Spike Spiegel had finally reached the limit of his own mortality he had twisted and bent so many times before? He was still panting, still breathing and clasping unto dear life for some sense of comfort. He was alive, but he wished he wasn't. He hoped he wasn't.

The gentleness of the snow became more bitter and bitter with each passing second. The bitterness could only be a reminder of him, his shadow and his opposite. It did not matter what had gone wrong. It could not matter, regardless his abilities, fantasies or weaknesses. Vicious, that crow that had cursed his existence from the moment they first met, had gained the upper hand again. And like many times before, he had let him slip away.

Snowflakes kept falling, the same as before. However, Spike Spiegel was caught in the subtle dance of different shapes, different forms, and each one telling a different story from the one preceding them. They felt warm to the touch, refreshing and pure. They passed from every angle, every direction, more intricate and more mesmerizing. It was hard not to look at them, contemplate their beauty and resist their spell. For a moment, he felt no pain, no sorrow, no bitterness; he felt only the snowflakes falling, as if trying to ease his suffering.

Off all things, lying down in his ruin and misery, he heard the tune again, the soft sound, the sweet lullaby, the tender voice humming his tune, their tune. "Where is it coming from?" He looked around, mustering the strength to search for the sound, even if it was a product of his delirious imagination. It could not be real? It simply could not? But the orchestrated sound, fixed in his mind, kept playing inside his head, as if the snowflakes were reminding him of her sensual figure, her delicate manners and her unforgettable smile and how she had always stood out from everything. How she stood out for him. It reminded him of her betrayal.

But it reminded him, out of his mortal desperation, of her voice, her sweet and tender voice humming for him, calling to him, and it was that memory that allowed Spike to carry on. It did not matter if it was real, it only mattered that he was listening to it at this moment, and it gave him hope. After all, he felt alive back then, just as he was feeling alive once again.

"Don't stop, keep singing…Julia" was all he could mutter before closing his eyes and falling into a deep sleep, not worrying anymore about anything, except for the joy of this moment.

The snowflakes continued to fall, but this time warming his skin with the sweet memories of his beloved Julia, telling him to rest and be at peace.