I listen to the sound of the snow crunch beneath my bare feet as I walk, my focus on the sound of my steps feels foreign.  It is no longer I that walks in this cold body, nor I that looks through these dead eyes.  Almost as if some spirt has possessed me, I walk forward.  No place to go, no place to return to. The frozen floor of the forest has long since stopped cooling my already numb feet.

I am cold.  The muscles in my legs complete another step.  Why am I walking?  The steps pause, then complete, they may never have paused at all.  I feel as if I could try to take control now, but even if I succeeded, I would only stumble and fall.  Better to keep moving forward, only footprints lie behind me.  My mouth feels dry, I cannot remember the last time I’ve had anything to drink.  I can’t remember much of anything.

My vision begins to blur, I can no longer see where I am going.  I find I don’t have the energy to blink anymore.  My eyes remain blurred, ‘it’s so very cold’ I think to myself.  I take another step.  How long has it been since my last one?  My stomach growls.  It has been doing that more and more lately.  I feel as if my body is falling apart on me, maybe I shouldn’t have one then?  If I’m not going to take care of this one.  I feel my face contort, a strange sensation.  The corner of my lips have pulled up.  I don’t remember when.  What is this expression?  Why am I smiling?

I’m alone.  I’m hungry.  I’m thirsty.  I’m tired.  I’m so very tired.

The side of my face starts to feel colder.  Oh, I’m lying in the snow.  When did I fall?  I’m so very, very tired.  I think I should just sleep.  Even though this bed of white is cold, it’s still soft.  A strange sound escapes from deep within my throat.  The punishment for making such a noise is immediate, as my raw, dry throat sparks up in an almost swollen pain.  What was that sound anyways?  A giggle?  Why am I giggling now?  I must be happy.

As shadow darts onto the tree, which protects me from the sun’s harsh glare, as a squirrel jumps onto its branches.  As it lands, the branch quivers ever so slightly, and small flakes of snow drift downward towards me, unable to resist the tempting pull of gravity.  One lands in my open eye, almost immediately melting from my body heat.  The flake moistens my eye, giving it a sort of artificial cleansing.

From my spot on the ground, I give my surroundings a once over.  Everything is white with snow.  The forest, which would normally be a mixture of grass and mud in the summer, is coated in an uninterrupted, flat plane of snow, forming an ever so slightly reflective surface, greedily used to reflect a miniature sun.  The branches on the trees are able to magically balance around an inch of snow, like a strange, and equally mystifying, circus performance.  Looking around, I could only come to one conclusion… I like snow.

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Suddenly, a burning sensation begins sprouting in my forehead, making me want to scream out, but my body would not allow such an intense display.  Instead I continue to lay, still, unable to move, feeling as if trapped in the prison of pain called a body.  The pain begins to slowly radiate outwards across my forehead in every direction.  As it spread, it becomes diluted, the pain not as sharp as it previously was.  By the time the circle of pain reaches my eyes, it has simply become unpleasant.  A strange tint of grey appears in my peripheral vision, even in my closed eye, as it becomes extremely hard to focus.  As my vision dazes in and out uncontrollably, strange shapes begin to form.  My world becomes completely tinted in a blood-red shade of colour as a rush of images fly through my mind. 

A deer-Grazing.  Blood.  An eye-Staring.  Blood.  An arrow-Piercing.  Blood.  A girl-Approaching.  Blood.  A man-Following.  Blood.  A man-Stabbing. Blood.  A girl-Screams.  Blood.  A voice-Speaking.  Blood.  A killer-Turning.  Blackness.

When I open my eyes, I see a deer, but ten feet away from me, slightly covered from my view by a tree and some foliage.  The deer glances my way, briefly making eye contact.  I can tell immediately, this is a beast who exists solely for itself, indulging in its own gluttony until it can eat no more.  I don’t like it.  The eyes return to the foliage, quickly accessing me as a non-threat.

As I watch the deer, I hear a ‘twang’ sound followed briefly by the sound of an object speeding quickly through the air.  The deer heard to, I realized, as it razes its head.  But it reacted to late, as an arrow silently pierces its neck.  It struggles fast, but it never had a chance, as it collapses on its side.  Once more I hear footsteps, only these ones are not mine, as a girl, draped in fur clothing and carrying a bow, ran through the treeline.  The bleeding deer lies on the ground, panting heavily.  The blood, leaking from the wound, quickly soaks into the snow.  Turning the Purity white snow, into a crimson husk of its former self.  When it comes to blood.  Snow never forgets.

“Father, Father!” she cries excitedly “Did I hit it?!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, these old bones of mine can keep up with you anymore” says an adult sized figure, dressed in a similar fashion to the girl, following in the girls wake.

I watch as she crouches down beside the bleeding deer—now that she was close enough to see the blood, her body language changed—as the father catches up.  He crouches beside her, pulling a large hunting knife from a sheath on his calf.  The knife shortly after finds itself imbedded in the deer’s heart.  The girl lets out a short scream.  The father jumps slightly.  Before turning to her.

“I’m sorry love, but it was suffering, I needed to put it out of its misery.  I should have warned you” he speaks quietly, comforting her as he rises.

His daughter stands, back to her father and myself, “I’m sorry father, I’m just not comfortable with all the blood” she apologizes.

She turns to face her father, she was young, maybe only eight or nine.  As she turns, her eyes briefly scan over me, widening when she sees me watching her from my prone position.

“Father!  Look!  It’s a girl!” she says as she points to me.  The last thing I remember before I pass out is the man turning.