Her pale knees folded up upon her chests, bare feet scraping the frozen snow below. Entrapped, she was in that cage of steel. All alone and cold.
Dull gray eyes, that were once electric blue, stared just above the knees. She was not exactly completely alone. Here were her companies; the window that laid forever in front of her and the ever massive, suffocating snow by her feet.
Her first company was the window. Only a minute version of the steel cage, but it brought in a wider view of the world than the cage itself. Unfortunately, her eyes captured only the light, which was too bright and too scorching; as if the punishment of entrapment was not enough for her, she must be burnt by the obvious freedom the outside world was forever allowed, the freedom that had been taken from her.
There were red spots on the edges of her first companion; blood. Her blood.
Brought on very slyly by her final companion, the snow.
The snow was led to her by the window. There was no friendly introduction or the joy of feeling cold delight on her skin. There was only the storm.
The window would not stop churning that night. It was the first time she got up after a long time. Her weakened legs wavered and swayed as she tried to remove herself from the ambush of the sudden burst of ice. Her body pressed hard on the cage, so hard that each and every imprint made on her, her skin remembered till now.
Like every other occurrence, the storm soon subsided. The window stopped regurgitating. Her body still pressed on the cage. The snow sank and its edges melted away into tiny puddles, flowing and reaching out to her toes.
Her senses tingled. Too cold.
She noticed for the very first time, how the light that the window usually let on had subsided with the storm, but still there. Barely there. Maybe the window grew tired from its sickness. Maybe finally the window was losing its power to shine.
Whatever it was, she decided she could now take a look, her very first peek to the insides of her companion.
She peeled her body from the cold metal. Slowly but surely, she wobbly reached the window. She stood on unsteady toes, head up high, eyes looking down and beyond, hands gripping the slippery cement.
White was all she saw. And black soon follow after.
Her eyelids were heavy yet, she pried them open with her will. Folding her knees upon her chest, she stared just above them. Her lips begun to throb like her pulsating heart.
There laid her blood, in between regions of freezing and dripping, so red that it stood out. So red that it reeked.
Her fingers shivered as she trailed them upon the backbone of her snow companion. The snow trailed her vertebrae back, unseen to any but her mind’s eye.
There she sat, speaking ever calmly to her companions while her lips begged her to stop. Her words came out fast but buried instantly by the snow. By the window. By the steel cage.
Her existence flickered, her companions loyal.
Her words no longer audible.
<Phish’s note> Not sure what I had written, sorry if I disappointed anyone who read this through and not get anything out of it. If this is a piece of artwork, I did called it a doodle. What do you called a doodle writing? Prose? But the image of this whole ‘doodle’ was very clear in my mind. Hauntingly clear. I wished I could help her out, take her away to a warm place. Alas, it’s just an image. An image that rendered me feeling helpless.