Smoke and Blood

She clutches the cloth to her chest, the salt-water staining the silken fabric, yet she doesn't care. Anything she's ever cared about is gone, and now she's alone in the world. It was only yesterday that her life was all sunshine and smiles; but then her world exploded and now all that's left is smoke-and-blood-tears.

It'sallmyfault,allmyfault,willalwaysbemyfault. Her mind screams at her, and all she feels is numb. Snow is falling now, and she's not sure she's not the cause. Her heart feels cold, and for all she knows, the falling white powder is a reaction to her feelings. No, wait, it's not snow. It's the ashes of the deadandgone. She tries to scream, but her throat constricts. It's all she can do to breathe right now. Maybe she should just stop. Breathing, that is.

Pleaseletmebedreaming,pleaseohpleaseohplease. She prays to anyone that can hear her, should there be anyone left. Pleaseletmewakeup. But deep down she knows that she'll never wake up, because this is her real life. And as much as she wishes to die, she knows she can't. That's not her path in life, and she's never been one to defy fate.

Now she stands. The movement is stiff at first, due to the position (on her knees on the frozen ground) that she's managed to retain for the past five or so hours, but eventually she can move around. She stuffs the textile in her pocket before heading in the direction of the only still-standing structure.

She enters only long enough to find the box hidden under a bench in the entrance hall of the building, and then retreats as quickly as she can. She climbs a semi-charred tree, wincing as the bark scratches against her numerous cuts, and perches precariously between two branches before opening her prize. She uncorks a bottle and drenches herself with its contents, grimacing as her skin first feels as if on fire before feeling as if frozen and then coolly pleasant.

She observes the world around her once more. The landscape is barren now, only a slight breeze providing movement. She's not sure whether she's describing her heart or the once-quaint village. But her wounds are now healed, and she takes the time for only a small smile before disappearing with a POP.


A/N: Not entirely sure what I'm going to do this yet. I might turn it into a full-fledged story, who knows. All I really know is that my writer's block was gone for a moment, and I really just wanted to write.