mernihan

    Snow never fell so silently, so much a whisper behind the chaos before it.    This was meant to happen.    A red seeped forward, the snow receding at its contact, as if disgusted by the turn of events.    This was meant to happen.    Glass across pavement, strewn along the ice that only embraced the asphalt the night before.    This was meant to happen.    Breaths: quick, long, shuttering, snapping, tumbling into nothing, disappearing with the inhale of the snow; strangled, scattered, mirroring the glass, mirroring the pale oblivion past the outstretched rubber arms of the bumper.    How was this meant to happen?    Sobs, hy