Sleep Will Come To Those Who Wait

The world looks like a comic book, waiting for someone to splatter blood and gore all over the panels.

The world is white, pure and silent, if only for a moment

Leftover snow muffles the oncoming traffic. I do not hear the minivan full of unsuspecting children and a mother (who has not slept in weeks because her husband is sleeping with the maid) rolling down the hill toward my feeble body.

The impact makes no sound. Also quieted by nature's purest precipitation.

The gore and the fresh blood the people wanted spills across the old snow. I'm left there to bleed out in a ditch.

It's cold, but I don't mind.