OWDTS

TW: Sexual violence. Physical violence. Gore

The air was sharp. Biting even. The sky had turned the same colour as the snow-covered ground and the inability to tell sky from ground painted the picture of an incessant white blanket. It was beautiful. The stretching pine trees wore jackets of white fur and towered over me as my feet dredged through the snow. Slowly, decisively. Deciding if they were capable of taking the next step, numbed by the aggressive kisses of the ice doused air. My fingers shouted for relief, silenced and numbed by the cold caresses of the snow, exposed to its sensual whims, entrapping them in a frozen place, erect and stiff, curled and unmovable. They pled for help. My nose ran, down to help them, losing direction on the way down my face, freezing by the time it got to the top of my lip, sitting on my cupid’s bow – the peak of a mountain it could not conquer. Flecks of white fell from the sky, dancing down in perfect synchrony before touching the ground and joining the larger formation beneath. So beautiful. The air in my chest felt clean, purified by the extreme temperature and isolation of the area, unmarked by the pollution of human nature and their devices, each draw of breath felt like a detoxification and gave me the strength to take another step.

She loves winter. Only when it snows though. I love the winter on her. The way she wears it like a seasonal designer, dances to the beat of the world’s drum. Takes the cold in and make it warm, seeping through her blushed cheeks and button nose. How her hands are always warm as she rubs them against my cheeks and how her eyes stand out the most when everything else is covered in layers and layers and layers. How they glow as she lies in the snow, reflecting the white of the sky in the blue of her eyes. She is the most beautiful in winter. She’s always beautiful, all year round. But there’s just something about winter. The way her skin feels warmer against mine as we lay in the sheets on a cold morning, how her breath warms me inside out but leaves a chill running through the back of my spine. How my ears prick up at the sound of her voice and how my nose picks up on the smell of her sweet cinnamoned breath. She’s ethereal. I consume her beauty through hungry eyes and beg for more with starving cries because she is my all. I close my eyes for a second as the cold swaddles me and the snow holds my feet firm. I throw my head back and suddenly I am in the nook of her neck, swaying and inhaling her sweetened scent, my nose conflates the smell of the stewed apples she stirs in the pot in front of her, with the smell of her and my arms tighten around her waist. Warm. I switch the channel in my mind’s eye, and I’m lost in the ice of her eyes, cold on the inside, burning on the outside craving her as the cold claws at my face. The snowflakes sit in her hair like perfectly placed flecks of glitter, illuminating her against the backdrop of our snow consumed garden. She freezes me in eternal gratitude at the fact that she will eternally be mine. Mine to have and mine to hold, mine to use for warmth in the harshest of colds.

The deeper into the forest I got the harder it got, pulling her through the thickened untouched snow and twisted tree roots got increasingly difficult and she often got stuck. Bless her heart it was tricky terrain, and she was cold and stiff. I tried my best to get her through, get us to our secret place, but at times the extra work became too much to bear. I’d prop her up against a tree, wrap her scarf around her tighter to keep her warm as I had a smoke to warm my insides. The silence sung the sweetest tune as we looked up at the paint splattered sky. She looked so beautiful under the shade of the flocked pine tree, like paintings of women from the past; women who looked too beautiful to exist. So quiet and angelic, cheeks flushed against her pale porcelain skin, I wasn’t used to her like this. Quiet and disarmed, obedient. I liked it. I hoped that she was enjoying the view and smiled at the view that was her. We needed to get moving again; the sun had begun to set. I took hold of her once again and continued our journey. I hummed a song under my breath, hoping that it would make it more enjoyable for her and the silence coaxed the words to climb out from between my lips, “Aloutte, gentille alouette, aloutte, je te plumeria”. 

The wind picked up my melody and as I trekked through the snow, the crunch underneath my feet built to a crescendo, giving me a backing sound to my lullaby.

“Je te plumeria le tête, Je te plumerai la tête”.

My sweet aloutte tracked behind me, quiet and calm, soothed by the cold.

“We’re almost there my love.”

I managed to drag her along a few more feet until we got there. Our spot. Her spot. I dropped her ankle with a defeated sigh and fell back into the snow. She had never felt so heavy, but I loved her regardless. Her leg landed in the snow with a light thud, the snow cushioned its weight. She’d always been delicate; her ballet days were behind her, but she had remained light on her feet. The thought made me laugh. I looked at her face in the snow and smiled. I rubbed her cheek. Sweet aloutte. Once I had caught my breath, I moved around to where she was lying and placed myself in the snow next to her. She looked so beautiful, her face a pop of colour against a bleached backdrop. I kissed her lips gently, shocked by the cold but enticed by the shock. I leant in and kissed her deeper, remembering the warmth and love that would leak into me as we brushed each other’s lips. I unzipped her jacket and pulled it off gradually with a bit of difficulty but the look of her skin against the snow was worth the exasperation. The flush red of her nipples against the crimson smear of the gash across her stomach. She could never not be beautiful. She looked so peaceful. I dipped my finger into her and painted across her chest, our initials encased in a perfect heart, placed right over hers. I kissed it and the metallic taste sent a shudder through me, it made me smile, she always surprised me. I showered her whole body in little kisses to warm her up before I began to baptise her in the snow. The alabaster drowned her, piled on high over her beautiful body, her face untouched so I could see her until the end. The smile etched into her face stayed unchanged and her eyes looked to her cleansed, reborn future. “I baptise you”.

I placed the last handful of snow into the face shaped hole I left in her covering. I kissed my hand and placed it against her engulfed corpse and prayed for her adultery to be forgiven by God. I prayed for her cleansing and rebirth before picking up her jacket and wrapping it around me- it reminded me of her embrace – then I began to whistle on my way back breaking into song as I fell into momentum.

“Alouette, gentille alouette

Alouette, je te plumerai

Je te plumerai le cou

Je te plumerai le cou

Et le cou, et le cou

Et le bec, et le bec

Et la tête, et la tête

Alouette, Alouette”.