Crushing Innocence
A single snowflake falls from the grey heavens, dancing with the crisp winter breeze. It lands away from its brothers, interrupted by an outstretched hand radiating with warmth. And the snowflake ceases to exist. The delicate hand transforms into a clenched fist, veins visible beneath the smooth skin. This snowflake has met the same fate as so many others, crushed beneath his iron grip, the beautiful white shape melting into nothingness.
He destroys because he hates.
It's nothing vastly personal. It's the colour, really. He was never one for white. The colour of innocence, the colour of purity.
The colour of a bold faced lie.
"Arty," she giggles as she brings the wine away from her lips, "This is the best night ever."
"Agreed," he gives a deep throated chuckle and taps his glass against hers. Then, standing up, he clears his throat loudly and a thousand eyes instantaneously fall upon him. A genuine smile creeps onto his stern lips.
"Friends, family," he begins, "I would like to thank you all for gathering here with us on this evening. And I do hope you all agree my wife looks beautiful in white."
He glances down at the slim figure beside him, her dark hair cascading in perfect curls that contrast the snowy gown she calls a wedding dress. And truth be told, she does look quite beautiful.
The colour is as treacherous as a magician – seemingly normal, yet able to disillusion the eyes and confuse the mind. However, the audience is forever captivated by the dazzling display.
It is so very difficult to tear your eyes away when the show is ever so brilliant. And the colour is a symphony of love and reverence. It almost fools you, until the fluffy white rabbit grows fangs and attacks.
"I didn't really think it would end this way," she smiles, her still radiant teeth gleaming against the sick twinge of her skin.
"Nor did I," he agrees, "But this changes nothing. I still love you."
Her eyes close as she recalls long nights of pain and anguish, depressing days of medicine and repetitive treatments. And through it all his face is always there, his hand always grasping hers, careful to never let go. Her dim eyes open and stare right into his – still bright as a sunrise.
"And I still love you," she nods, although it is difficult to move, "But this is probably for the best. You know that right?"
He moves his head stiffly, what she has come to know is a nod. No more words are exchanged. It pains her to speak. And he hates seeing her suffer. Perhaps her alternative is the better one. He stares at her snow white hands, one wrapped in his, the other on her chest, which has never been more still.
He leans over and places a soft goodbye kiss on her forehead.
It is then he catches sight of the sheets, whiter than her skin. And full of lies.
She never did get well. They had lied.
The snow continues to fall, but he takes no notice. Turning back to face his large, empty house – for it is no longer a home – he begins to walk, deliberately stepping with the hardest footfalls he can muster, determined to destroy the world's innocence, just as it had destroyed his.
The End
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So it's not very good, but it was something I had just written on a whim to get my mind set. Please review and let me know what you thought. And this does not mean I'm back people. I won't be updating anything for a little while longer. Sorry again.
