Prompt: Red Snow
By Perry, 18
Red Snow
The January day was cold and the city was blanketed with a layer of snow. However, the city was bustling and vibrant, undeterred by the bleak weather.
Two sisters strolled down the sidewalk. The tall one was about five foot ten. Dark ginger hair fell neatly to her shoulders. Her name was Poppy Lawrence. The shorter one was Poppy’s younger sister, Imogen Lawrence. Imogen stood around five feet (“Five foot two, for the last time!”) and had a mass of curly blonde hair. Both sisters shared the same laughing green eyes, although Poppy’s seemed more prone to sardonic smirking rather than laughing.
They had walked to the grocery store from the apartment complex where they lived with their mother to pick up a few things. Now, with purchases in hand, it was time to go home. Poppy had wanted to walk home exactly the way they came, but Imogen insisted on walking in another direction, past the music store and the bakery. Poppy had tried to convince her, but Imogen was stubborn like a mule, and eventually Poppy just threw up her hands and gave in. Little sisters. So annoying.
“Besides, we might run into Conlan,” Imogen teased after they had walked for a few minutes, eyes alight.
Poppy blushed. “Why would I care about running into Conlan? I mean, he is my friend, but it’s not a priority or anything.”
“Pops, I’m pretty sure friends don’t stare at each other like you guys do.”
“How would you know, squirt? You’ve never had a crush.”
Imogen frowned; she hated being called short, and unfortunately, squirt was a nickname that had stuck. “That doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“Look, I don’t have a crush on Conlan.”
“Are we in Egypt? Because you seem to be in denial!” She giggled sat her horrible joke and tore off in case Poppy decided to come chasing after her in a rage.
Imogen ran down the sidewalk carelessly, laughing. Poppy just shook her head with an exasperated smile and rolled her eyes at her sister’s antics and sense of humor.
Imogen reached the mouth of the alleyway next to them and turned to watch her sister approached. She turned away and the laughing stopped abruptly at the metallic glint brought on by the sunlight as a man wielding a gun stepped from the shadows, pointing the gun at Imogen. Everything froze and silence reigned. Imogen’s eyes were locked on the man and his gun as he stared menacingly back at her.
It was as if everything had suddenly started moving in slow motion. The sinister click of the trigger, the explosive bang of the bullet bursting from the gun, Poppy screaming – all of the sounds seemed distant and remote to Imogen, as if a great foggy veil had severed Imogen’s connection to the world. Then there was an impact, and she was falling, falling, falling – but something was off. There was no pain. No rips in skin or clothes, no red blossoming on her creamy sweater. It was only when Imogen lay on the ground, her face half buried in the snow, that answers came with crystal clarity and utter horror.
Poppy stood in Imogen’s footprints, her face a mix of abject terror and steely determination. The man’s eyes had widened in shock, and without a word, he turned and ran back down the alley. Then Poppy swung to look at her sister, and Imogen’s breath caught in her throat. It was if a volcano had erupted within her: a hole had been dug, and red had risen to the surface and poured across her abdomen. Poppy had taken the bullet for her. Then Poppy sank to her knees before fully crumpling to the snow covered concrete, her legs unable to support her any longer.
“POPPY!” Imogen shouted, and stumbled through the snow to her sister’s side, dropping to her knees.
“Imogen? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Imogen rushed to assure her.
“Good.” Poppy smirked for a moment. “No back alley trash was going to hurt my sister.”
“You saved my life. You’re so amazing. I owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to the list.”
As Poppy fell silent, Imogen did everything she could think of to help her injured sister. She put pressure on the wound, and tried to keep her hands cold to try to numb her sister’s pain. Neither seemed to be working very well, and Imogen was at her wits’ end.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it, squirt,” Poppy rasped suddenly.
It took only nine words to shatter Imogen’s heart. “O-of course you will Poppy, I’m sure there will be an ambulance or police car here soon, you’re going to be all right.”
“I’m no fool; I saw your phone break on the concrete when you hit the ground, so you couldn’t call 911 if you tried. There will be no rescue for me.”
“I’m sorry.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I’m so, so sorry. If I had just listened to you and walked your route, or reacted quicker, or just taken the bullet-”
Poppy cut her off. “No. Stop that. Neither of us knew walking this way would lead here. You did the best you could. There was no way I was going to let you get shot if there was something I could do about it.”
“But you’re dying, and I can’t save you!”
“I don’t regret what I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
They stayed like this, freezing in the cold, as Poppy fought to stay alive and Imogen wept. The cold was settling in on them both. For Poppy, it was the chill that came to the dying, that seeps in as a person fades and consumes them in numbness, immersed, like drowning. For Imogen, the cold was both biting, full of fear and self-hatred, and dismal, as an overwhelming depressing grief settled into her bones and made her soul its home.
“You’ll stay with me?” Poppy’s voice was weak and hollow now, yet rang with a pleading desperation.
Imogen nodded, forcing a smile as tears dripped down her face only to freeze in the winter air. “Of course. I’m with you beyond the edge of the earth.” And she kept her promise. Imogen stayed by her sister’s side, not moving. Imogen stayed and held Poppy’s hand as she coughed up more scarlet. She stayed as Poppy’s eyes lost their gleam, color dulling. She stayed and kept holding that hand even as it went limp. She stayed as her sister’s skin paled, like frost. She stayed, and watched her sister’s chest rise up. She watched it fall down. Up. Then down once more. She stayed as her chest stilled. She stayed as Poppy’s pulse slowed, until it stopped altogether. She stayed as Poppy’s body went cold as ice, still gripping her hand fiercely.
Underneath them, white snow turned red.
