A strong bitting wind blows,waking me from my eternal sleep.I stand up in a field of white,tiny flakes of snow floating to further collect in the leaf-barren treetops.The flakes seem even more clear,every miniscule pattern is visible,i am in awe. Evergreen providing the only color to a pure white landscape. Is this heaven? Is this the afterlife? Am I truly dead? I look at my fingers,they seem normal,but then something long and white slips into view,i tug on it,its my hair. Very confused I race across the meadow to a small frozen pond. I look down and I see a stranger,white hair with striking grey eyes that stand out against my pearlescent skin,yet I don't see any blood. I start to get scared my breathing irregular. In a panic I find a sharp rock and gently prick my finger,blood pools out,then suddenly it's sucked back in,I'm not dead,I bleed. What am I? I collapse to the ground screaming out in anguish,my pale bare feet sinking deeper into the snow.I lay down in the snow,I'm no longer cold like before,I fall asleep, the wintry flakes settling on my cheeks.
YOU ARE READING
Running With the Moon
WerewolfThe moon,its shining light,pure, white and gleaming,like a mothers touch yet the darkness wraps me in a trance.
