A Reflection of Snow

The morning broke with eerie silence, the ground below him cracked and dry, covered in snow. Could see his breath with every gasp, but the air was not cold. The canopy of branches overhead allowed threads of the new day’s sunlight to trail down leaving the forest spotted like a leopard. Where the sun hit the snow, patches of steam arose. Further down, in small spread areas, the ground was stained red. Liquid indentions in the frosted snow. Everything gleaming like crystal, it could have been a beautiful day.

With every step of the heavy boots, sounds of crunching ice filled the air. His long white fur cape dragging the ground. Grey tunic and black leather pants, a wicked looking dagger tied to his waist. Thick wavy hair tumbled to his shoulders as he raised his head forward, hard black eyes penetrating the scenery.
The figure walked a ways then stopped, staring down at where the trail of blood ended. He crouched bringing his hand up to cover the sun’s glare. A middle aged woman lay lifeless leaning against a tree, blood smeared all across her face, wide eyed and open mouthed. A last contorted look frozen on her face. He brought his hand up to her, closing the eyes and mouth. Held her chin for a moment, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before labeling her aloud as to who she once was to him. “Mother,” was all he said before standing and walking further down the trail. Acting as if it were just another walk in the woods. No emotion on his face.
Not much farther was a middle aged man lain in the same pose as the previous lady, mouth open, eyes wide. The man’s hand clutched to his chest as if he’d had a heart attack. Might have even seemed so if there wasn’t so much blood. The cloaked figure then crouched again, closing the eyes and mouth. Labeled him as well. “Father,” a single tear ran down his face, falling to the snow. He then reached over, pulling the man’s hand aside, grasping his necklace, and pulling it off. A celtic cross engraved with the man’s son’s name, a gift from long ago, which now was returned to the giver. It read, ‘With love, your dear son Jess.’
Jess stood, shaking his head to clear his mind before continuing to walk. The worst thoughts running through his mind, ‘How could this be? Why am I here? How did this. . .’ Cut short on what he saw next.
The next body he found was face down in the snow, a pool of red surrounding her once veluptuous frame. A knife still protruding from her back. “Liz,” he labeled her too, “my fiance.” His fists curled into balls, anger rising up through his chest. Burning. Constricting. Causing him to blink away more tears as he kept walking. Not even stopping to look at her face. Jess wanted to remember her as she was before, not like that, not ever like that.
After a few minutes of walking he came to the high rise. All the trees cleared from the area exept a few thin pines, struggling to survive on the stony, snow covered ground. A light breeze passed through the clearing causing a light flurry before him. A few stone tables stood scattered on the bluff. One fallen on its side, cracked halfway down. Twenty yards further, the rise dropped like a cliff. Everything within miles could be seen from up there.
As he watched, the clouds shifted, the sun dissapearing from view leaving a grey overcast to all of it below. And on the bluff stood a lone silhouette, staring off into the distance as if not seeing Jess. A long knife in the person’s hand much like the one Jess always carried.
A few more bodies littered the clearing that he hadn’t noticed in the sun’s glare. A quick glance at them was all he needed to figure out that those lain here were his old friends and compadres.
“Damit,” Jess cursed under his breath, not wanting the other to hear him. Thinking that who ever planned his life out to be like this is a bstard.
He took a few steps forward taking quick glimpses of his now dead friends. Stopped for a second unsheathing his own dagger. Jess planned on extracting his revenge for all of this. A few more paces was all it took to be standing right behind the figure, but the person didn’t move. Jess knew something was wrong as soon as he raised his hand to grip the other’s shoulder from behind. Not wanting to stab him in tha back, but the figure spun around at the touch of Jess’s hand ramming the knife deep into Jess’s chest. Then gasped, wide eyed. For who this figure saw before him, the man he just killed, was himself.
Jess now lifted his eyes from the dagger in his chest, identical to his own, to look into the face of his rival, the man who did him in, along with everyone he knew. For what he saw there, was as well, his own face staring back at him.

By CheshireGriffinx

What you want to know. . .just ask.