Teardrops

• Aviva Pearl Basserabie, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2015

The snow sparkles a brilliant white, undisturbed by footprints. The forest is in deadly silence, not even the birds are up this early in the morning. The cold seeps into my bones. With not enough clothing on, the cold could easily kill. Its enticing tentacles would envelop an unsuspecting person in their freezing fingers, tripping him up and squeezing the air from his lungs.
A quiet hum starts not so far away, and I lift my head in hope. But it is only the noise of leaves rustling in the wind, and there is not a soul around to help me.

They examine the bloodstains in the snow, which have almost faded away in this unusually secluded area. “Could have been days ‘fore anyone noticed this. Wild animals probably took the body” a burly policeman informs me indifferently, hooking a thumb towards the blood which is now being separated off by yellow police tape. I examine the policeman talking to us. He is quite rotund, looks to be about in his early fifties, is clean shaven, and has a pot belly hanging over his belt and threatening to burst out of his strategically tucked in shirt. I draw my woolly coat closer over my body, fear making me cold. The younger policeman taping off the blood finishes, inspects his handiwork, and comes to join us. He is young, barely out of school. “You must be Mia?” He shouts into the silent clearing, appraising me. There are only three of us here, two obligated, and one here because nobody else could care about a dead teen, my best friend who is now another stereotypical dead teen, another percentage added to the statistics, a number. I nod.

When they announced a snow day, with all schools closed, the whole of my small town was overjoyed. My mother was making inedible smelling coffee and my dad was reading the paper, a satisfied smile on his face. He looked at me, then grinned towards the window, and whispered “such a shame about mum’s cyclamens.” I laughed. Lately, they had been looking rather sickly and had started smelling similar to the coffee which mum was setting on the table in front of me. The phone had started its shrill ringing, saving me from sampling the morning’s breakfast. I picked up, and was greeted by the excited voice of Mia. “Snow day!” she declared. “Come meet me near the forest, we can have a fun girl’s day out.”
As usual, she was late. I prayed for her to come and find me, to rescue me from the numbness and cold. Watching my own blood being absorbed into the snow from my vantage point on the floor, with no energy to lift my head, I felt my life slip through my fingers. I knew from there onwards it would be too late, the snow which had seemed so fun this morning carrying me away in its deadly clutches.

Obligatory words said, they start to traipse away, leaving brown boot prints on the pristine snow. Leaving red bloodstains on the snow. Leaving wet teardrops on the snow.