It was snowing. It always seemed to be snowing, but it had gotten worse. Now it was red. The civil war had escalated and the world weeped in response.

It had been years since the snow had been white. Years since the first generation fighting the war had died. It had been years since I’d seen them. Years since they had seen me.

I remember seeing them disappear into the haze of steaming snow, the snow had only been a faint pink then. I remember watching them turn their backs on me.

Everything seemed bloody now. Everything had taken a side. Every decomposing body became part of the atmosphere.

The world had been falling apart for far too long. I never saw a time of a white snow. But I have heard it was truly beautiful.

I just want to see the snow fall in a white blanket, once.

Maybe someday.

It was kinda cold.

It was kinda dark.

It was kinda wet.

In fact I was miserable. I had mud streaking down the plains of my neck down the curve of my back.

I had been punched down and didn’t know how to get back up.I felt a little like Matt Murdock, Daredevil knocked out of me trying to pull myself up again.

But I wasn’t Daredevil. I wasn’t even Matt Murdock.

I wasn’t looking killer, I wasn’t spitting blood like a hardcore vigilante, I couldn’t pull my self up.

In all frankness, I wasn’t even bleeding, I wasn’t facing the evils of the world.

I was laying in the mud where they left me.

Cold, alone, and wallowing in self pity.

What was I supposed to do, some how dig myself out? Yes that was exactly what I was supposed to do, and yet here I lay.

Knocked down by my demons laying under a sky that had cracked open and dropped its gross slimy egg on me. The jagged fissures of the shell reflected in the lightning forking its way toward me.

I knew I should get up. I knew I would eventually.

But right now, right now I was just me.

Darkness descends early here. Barely a blink between light and dark. One moment sweating the next the sweat is becoming chill beads against your rapidly cooling skin.

I didn’t really know what to think when my ride left stranded, minutes away from dark, alone, in the rain. Mostly I was just tired. Tired from a hard day of work, tired from patching other people up, tired of being happy.

I had created a mold for myself. An unbreakable mold. I was happy, perfect, and unfailingly nice. What could I do if I wanted to bite someones head off, just smile and nod at them as if I really wanted to listen?

I guess so.

The rain was like pikes driving into my back in waves. I could see the puffs of my breathe in the air, my stuff had been in the car. What I wouldn’t give to trade places with it. I can hear something in the trees and howls on the hills.

My legs shake uncontrollably from the eight mile walk and the cold to find the house locked. The lights are on smokes wafting from the chimney and I’m stuck on the outside.