Snow blanket

[TW references to violent crime]

Snow

A blow

He was dead

It was over

I thought for a while about that

I turned it over like dirt

The fact that I was a killer

I had known him, after all, for a long time

The past tense fitting over us like a glove

He the past and I the tense, a murderer now

It was a simple enough formula, myself plus him plus blunt object

It was the blankness of the snow that I couldn’t deal with

It hurt me to look at it white, unsullied still by his spreading blood

Unsullied. Yes, I must return to an unsullied state. Calm now, meditate. But I couldn’t think what to do with the body

Rather than shrinking in death he seemed to have become larger. Frail limbs stretching out to claim ground, fingers splayed and putting down roots

That dark spot, its splatter of festive red seemed to suck at the eye. It was quiet here, now, but not so quiet

Dog walkers and joggers and children with sleds. People would be better tucked up in bed

I hummed a tune to myself and looked round distractedly. Distracted, there was a word. She murdered him because she was distracted, after he died she went distracted - with grief. The chorus says with guilt. That at least unlikely

I didn’t want to touch him. Perhaps I could simply pile the snow over him and trust to a freeze

A lump, a drift, a snowman we hope will melt in the thaw

I didn’t think that would be enough. This thin coverlet of snow was only enough to wipe clean the dirt a few hours

My hands were numb and sticky, I brushed them on the accusing whiteness of the snow turning it pink

The sky was turning pink now too. The dawn spreading out its long fingers and the promise of unforgiving light

Burying him here would show like a wound in the earth. And I tried not to look at his head. What had been his head

There was a patch of brambles. Perhaps. Perhaps. Well better than the snow which was growing churned like my stomach. Not enough probably but perhaps

I still didn’t want to touch him but wanting was no longer the problem, only doing which was also difficult. I tried to drag the body. It was heavy, the meaning of dead weight

The ground was a crime scene. I tried to muddy the earth and snow, drowning red in brown. Then I went and found a drift and scattered over more snow. It turned pink then brown

Every mark. Because snow is not like dead men that tell no tales. The ground was full of accusations. If I hadn’t, if he hadn’t

Well he wouldn’t now. Growing colder now than I was

And thinking I’ll do something you’ll regret. Both mine now. The doing and the regret.

The hand that mocked and the heart that bled

No that wasn’t the line

I picked up the stone and surveyed the (barely) concealed scene. You will go in the river because a stone in a river may mean just nothing at all

A stone in the head caused wounds that bled. And kings fall down and don’t get up again

Stop it. Because you are becoming hysterical. You are doing murder badly and are likely to be caught like a tune that repeats in your head, over and over until you are…

Well enough of that.

It is beginning to snow again which is hope. Because the snow is a map and a blanket. Another coat like whitewash and it can all be washed clean

This could be now a perfect secret concealed in my skull like an egg. What happened here is known to me and the dead. What the dead know famously goes unsaid

And barely known to me. The memory, almost, already fading. What happened was only a lot of noise. Because I don’t need you

You have to let go. Which I almost do. Hand loosening on stone. He now gone as far as he can go. No more. Perhaps to dream

Which I hope he will. I bear him, after all, no ill will. No feelings at all really

Only wanted him to go, go, go away. Pushing which led to more. A danger to touch someone you don’t love and never loved at all. An admission better left unsaid because it lead

To difficulties

Him spitting ‘you vile…thing…you monster’

Which I was now. I suppose we had both become things. He a corpse and I a monster. We looked, for now, not long, human enough. About to be consumed

He providing an ecosystem, a feast for whatever lives in snow and soil. Myself a monstrous meal for monstrous growths. A cancer myself that canker blooms to eat away a face he claimed to love

I never claimed to love. Only wanted. Well not this and if you were the jury I would swear I never wanted this. All things I never wanted. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury I imagine now. The defendant would like to tell the court. That it wasn’t like that. That only we knew and he’s dead. So it’s no good you looking through the entrails for facts. That Cassandra could have told you only that it wouldn’t end well

The snakes of morning light are approaching now. They twist through the trees and hiss. They know I am like them now. I also can turn a man to stone

This day is the first day he is dead. I will move away from here. When I leave he will have no power, now, to follow

Which was the only thing I wanted. (I would swear. To the jury I would swear)

This me will move away and not know how to go back and reclaim the part of herself that is left in the snow holding a stone that will tell no stories