The Snow

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I worte this as a small competition with Davey.
The cold wind blew forth from the east. Paul pulled his jacket tighter around him, keeping the heat of his body in, moving away from the streetlight, his only source for illumination for another 30 yards. He trudged through the drfits, trying so very hard to step lightly, trying not to sink in, but it was all in vain. He stepped, sunk, stepped, sunk, leaving a trail that a blind man could follow. And this was a day when he did not want to be tracked. This day, of all days, was one that screamed for stealth. Paul had none. He cursed, muttering about how there was snow in his shoes, the melted water soaking in his socks, freezing his toes, unaware that he was being followed. He leaned against a tree, tired of walking, jumping up and grabbing one of the lower branches, pulling himself up.He sat perched on the limb, and removed his shoes and socks, emptying out the shoes, dumping a large amount of unmelted snow back onto the solid white ground. He wrung his socks out, watching the water droplets fall, impacting the snow, making tiny craters. He held his feet in his hands, rubbing them, trying to warm them up to a small degree. He pulled his toes up to his face, breathing on them, and losing bakance, he fell, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. "God DAMMIT!" he cursed at the sky, squeezing his eyes shut at the dull pain in his back. He stands, and jumps, the icy cold of the ground biting into his exposed flesh like knives. He scrambled back up the tree, scraping his bare skin against the bark, clambering back up to the limb. He sat back down, and picked up a lone sock, the only article of clothing that didn't fall with him. He shook his head, and tossed the sock down, watching it land near the rest of his scattered articles. he sighed, figuring he'd better wait it out, wait for someone to walk by. Waiting wasn't the right choice either. From above, cold eyes, like they were carved from the ice around, stared down at Paul, shifting, letting a bit of snow fall on top of his head. Paul winced as the lup of snow fell on him, and he looked up, a slow buring rage boiling behind his eyes. He saw nothing, and figured it was a squirrel. He shook his head, and went back to waiting, not knowing that the cold stalking eyes had returned, lower this time, on a branch not 3 feet from where Paul rested. They peirced the air, hitting Paul, focusing on him, gazing at his warmth, his life. They moved, silently, right next to him, invisable stalkers wating for the perfect oportunity to strike. It came in the form of a yawn. Paul, growing tired, streached and yawned, extending his neck. The eyes stuck him, the rest of the body forming, tossing off the veil of invisability, displaying the full form of the vampire, a woman, looking as if she was carved form the finest ivory, her hair a deep black, the rest of her clothed in a fine red velvet gown. Paul was dumstuck as she fed, holding him in a lover's embrace, his mouth open in a silent scream. He looked to the sky, his eyes full of question, shuddering. She finished, and let him drop, hitting the snow again, his face still in a bewildered expression, serching the face of his assailant for the answer. She gave a warm smile, and a wink, before jumping out of the tree, walking lightly on the ground, leaving Paul to die, his crimson blood staining the pure white of the snow.


-- Zero_6ix (Zero_6ix@hotmail.com), July 20, 2002

Answers

This is great, keep them coming Zero_6.

-- ArchPyro (ZemoruePyxil@aol.com), July 20, 2002.

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