Ghosts of sin

Silence.
There was an unnatural silence that covered the forest as he lay in the snow.

He hated the snow.
but as he lay - blood painting the ground beneath him, he couldn't help but laugh at the poetic aspects of his death.
Alex Swan had always known that death was inevitable, he had dreamed of the day it would claim him as its valiant child. He had thought of it to be sudden but warm, a flush like a blanket being placed over your shoulders; or the feeling of home as you're carried in from the car after falling asleep as a child.

Yet the snow beneath him was sharp and cold, soaking his clothes and making them cling uncomfortably to his skin. Blood coated his fingers differing greatly from the numbness of his hands in the chill.
Alex had spent his whole life surrounded by people, yet as he died he found he was utterly alone. death was not kind, nor warm nor comforting.
it was cruel, claiming his life just as he began to love it.