A Tomb of Winter and Spring

A Tomb of Winter and Spring

A Story by Krisen Lison
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Came from listening to this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_YJhmGKTxk

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A Tomb of Winter and Spring

 

He walked through the woods, gripping at his side. Blood seeped between his fingers from a wound unseen. Snow fell around him in sweet, soft flakes that soothed his racing his mind. He didn’t hold a grudge against the man who attacked him. He knew it was something that had to be done to spare him a horrible death from the illness. He stared up at the snow clouds, knowing it would soon warm up enough to turn it flakes into freezing drops of rain.

            The trees surrounded him, locking him in, becoming his prison. He held desperately onto life, but it wouldn’t last much longer. He was fading fast, the lights in his eyes dimming with every step he took. When he couldn’t stand any longer he sat cross legged in the snow. It was cool through his jeans and chilled him to the bone. Just as he’d settled in the snow made its change and the stinging drops fell over him. His body had cooled enough to allow the ice to settle onto him, making a shell around his form.

            His blood stained the fresh white snow around him. His head flopped forward as ice froze his hair solid into sheets over his face. The sun was reaching high noon when his breathing stopped, folded in on himself still clutching the wound. Ice encased him as the day progressed, and the next day four feet of snow imprisoned him for good.

 

When the snow melted the thistles grew, covering the forest floor. She went out to play, her young brother in tow. They found a large patch in the middle of a clearing and she walked over, staring at the bright purple flowers that stood at the tops of each thistle. She knew how to pick them without getting pricked, and as she rose to her toes something caught her eye. She sunk back down and stared between the branches. A man sat beneath them, the sharp spines digging into his skin.

            “Hey Mister, what are you doing down there.” She called, reaching into a slight gap to prod his shoulder. “You’re really cold, if you come out we can take you to get warm.” She smiled sweetly, poking him again.

            He didn’t budge, his body held tightly in place by the thistles all around him. She frowned, looking around for a gap in the thorns that he could use to get out. As she changed position she saw the blood that was dried over his hand and stomach. She pulled back and gasped, staring at the site before her.

            “Thomas, go get dad.” She called, making her younger brother pop up from the dandelions he’d found.

            “Why don’t you do it.” The boy stuck out his tongue, stooping over the flowers once more.

            “Just go, now!” she demanded, staring back at the body before her. She didn’t know how long he’d been there, but it couldn’t have been long. Unless he’d been here all winter, preserved by the cold. She sat down on the ground beside the thistle patch, softly singing a lullaby. She didn’t know his story, or even his name, but she would sit with him just the same, just beside his thorny tomb.

© 2013 Krisen Lison


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Added on May 11, 2013
Last Updated on May 11, 2013

Author

Krisen Lison
Krisen Lison

About
I'm a poet, erotic writer, novelist, and short story writer. My free time is filled with the written word, flowing both from my own pen and from the many books I read. I tend to keep to myself, but if.. more..

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