Un nuit de rougue

Un nuit de rougue

“Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red.”

― Clive Barker, Books of Blood, Vols. 1-3



She was pale as snow itself, but her lips still held onto a twinge of red, even after being out in the bitter cold night. In life, she must have radiated with vitality. Although, when death took her under his raven wing, the light that had once pulsated from her eyes tentatively faded as the last rays of the sun before nightfall.



When I had first discovered her on this bitter cold winter night, my first instinct had been to run. To run from the remains of this woman, would be to run from death. And so I ran. I ran aimlessly through the forest, without any destination.



Only when my heart and lungs felt like they were about to burst, did I stop. My surroundings were completely unfamiliar. I only knew of only one thing. I had to find the way back; back to the woman,who death had taken under his raven wing.

The freshly fallen snow was a blessing in disguise, all I would have to do to find the way back would be to follow my own tracks. After having taken a moment's rest, I began hastening back the way I came.



The second time I came acrosst the woman in the snow was a lesser shock than when I had first discovered her. Instead of fear of the remains, I felt something else entirely. My sorrow was not for her death, it was for my own sorry life. Before I had discovered this woman, I had simply exsisted. Now I realize that a man who lives wholy, is fully prepared to die at any time.