Silence.
A silence so loud, so unbearably loud, had descended that night. It covered the city like a blanket so thick, that even screams would sound like whispers. One could probably hear the soft pitter-patter of the rain that fell on the snow. Every living thing could hear this deafening silence.
All except her.
She sat on the slab of stone that was placed conveniently in front of the grave. Her palms were folded in front of her, as if in prayer. Tiny snowflakes bounced off her back and slid down her black coat. Her black kiki cap had a crown of the soft white at its peak. Anyone could have easily mistaken this woman for the Snow Queen, the despised Goddess of the Winter, had they seen her like this; all covered in white on her black clothing.
The Snow Queen in mourning.
But there was more to her than meets the eye. She was there for a reason, a purpose.
There was something important that she had to do tonight.
Tonight, but not now.
Now, she had to wait.
Wait for the clock to strike twelve.
Wait for this tedious day to end.
Wait for the moment she could see him again.
It was maddening, this wait.
So in order to pass the time, and avoid losing her sanity, she read the words inscribed on the grave.
'Loving son, Loving brother, Loving husband'
These, in that order, were embedded on her brain. She could close her eyes and repeat them inhesitantly.
So well did she know this inscription, that she can even tell you where the moss had grown, where the snow had touched, how deep were the letters chiselled;everything.
However, there was one thing that had always remained a mystery to her. One thing she could never figure out. She had wondered about it for ages; yet, there was no reasonable explanation for it.
It was his name on the grave.
Moss and weeds had creeped up the moist stone, in an admirable fashion turning grey to green. The grass had covered the soil under which he lay. Every inch of the stone screamed that a year had gone by since its erection.
And yet, 'Richard Maitland' remained as fresh as a daisy, untouched by nature's parasites. No moss, no lichen, not even a frosting had taken place.
No sign of decay.
No nothing.
It was like it had just been engraved.
Perfect.
She smiled at a memory that jumped aboard her train of thought.
"I hate winter." he had complained. "I hate it when the snow touches me, I hate shovelling it off the walk. I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT!!!" "Oh cmon, stop acting like a baby!" she had replied. " Its a part of nature's bounty, thus it sits wherever it wants to."
"Not if I can help it!" he had exclaimed. "I ain't letting this white muck touch me as long as I live!!"
She chuckled softly. Even after his death he had not allowed this "white muck" to touch him.
Somewhere nearby, a grandfather clock struck twelve. Its loud gongs snapped her back from her reverie. She looked at her watch. The hands and the numbers became blurred as her eyes began to swim with tears. She looked at the grave again, and one trickle of water slid down her eye.
With an enormous clump in her throat, she choked out.
"Happy Anniversary, Richard."
She uncorked the vial that she had taken out from her purse before. The vial contained liquid a shade so blue, it would shame the cobra's venom. To an ordinary person, the colour would seem menancing and intimidating, not unlike the Waters of Hell.
To her, it was the bottle that contained the sliver of blue sky that would cut through darkness that had surrounded her for a year.
"Tonight, you and I will be together again."
"Just like we had vowed to be."
She took a deep breath, her final one, and took a swig.
Then she remembered nothing.
