Just something that was fun to write. Perhaps I'll continue it into something substantial :-)
Hallucination
Perhaps it was a dream. You can never be sure of such things.
The snow felt real enough, biting the fingertips, making the softest of crunching sounds as it compacted under the rubber of his boots. His very well cared for, spotless boots. Lisbon was there, of course. Well, not of course—but it felt very natural that she should be there, and somehow assuring, so Jane did not question the validity of the hallucination in case the slightest doubt or the most innocent of questions would startle the dream and burst it into a thousand translucent, effervescent bubbles.
It was so still that it seemed unreal. The vibration of his body as his heart beat a steady drum-line in his chest matched the gentle chomp of the snow below. Perhaps his ears were stuffed with cotton—or better yet, with little wads of fog that rolled off some distant harbor and nestled close inside them.
The field of snow was red under a sea of ladybugs. When they reached the edge of that sea Jane turned and looked at Lisbon, who stared outward like a surfer might gaze at the horizon beyond the sound and the waves. He offered his right hand and she glanced at him, then smiled and took it.
So they stepped into that sea of red—of desire and excitement and delightful panic and pain.
Don't look back, Lisbon said to him. But of course he did. And he saw that the path their feet had taken turned into little puddles of red paint. Crayola red, and it reminded him of fresh supplies laid out on white linen, ready for kindergarten art class.
He almost laughed because it was so absurd but for the troubling question, where did the ladybugs go?