It was the color of strawberries.
The same color of strawberries
that he and his sister had picked when they were younger, the flame of
vermilion among the green, the bright scarlet hue that had glowed on the
fruit now danced across the snow in splashes of rose, like shade through
the trees on a summer's day.
The footprints littered the
snow beside the crimson, tarnishing the perfection. The sea of white, the
waves of the prints, the sunspots of the ruby- each led to one thing. The
youth was kneeling, almost as if in prayer, his small hand over his heart.
The boulder lay some distance off, the dirt before the entrance to the
black mouth of the cave harsh to the eyes against the rest of the ocean
of snow.
Perhaps the youth was wondering
if this would be the last sight he would see.
Every flower blossoms and then
fades, early green to soft pink to deep red, then to an earthly brown.
From dust to dust, a seed is born and returns. A rose starts at nothing
and becomes nothing in the end.
Each day is given a set amount
of time, and at the end of that time the sky is drowned by a fire of violets,
pinks, and reds. Every day must end to make way for the next day. Everything
has an order that must be followed.
The sun glittered across the
snow, scattering petals of faint crimson everywhere, reflections of the
rich color of the strawberry patch on the ground. The youth was nearly
as pale as the snow, his heartbeat growing weaker with every passing moment,
his own life slowly strangling him, drowning him in what was to keep him
alive. The gaping wound through him had punctured his lung and the deep
red had rushed in to fill the hole, seeking to heal and nourish, succeeding
only to harm and destroy.
And time must go on.
As he fell, like an angel from
the sky, the strawberry-colored flame of the character dying on his chest,
he heard a voice call his name. His head turned slightly, a faint smile
resting on his lips. The snow accepted him into its embrace silently.
The strawberries danced over
the sheet of white, a dazzling bright, joyful color, vividly proclaiming
life in the vast silence of the mountain.
