Write a story that includes: melted snow, a dead poet, and a betrayal
Had it been worth it? That was an interesting question, and Skylar wondered if he would be required to answer it before getting into Heaven. Not that getting into Heaven was an option now. Not after everything he had done.
Nevaeh. If he could have laughed he would have, but his lungs were not working any more so that was out of the question too. How had he not noticed her name? Nevaeh. Heaven. That one had gotten past him, and here he was, a poet, he should have been able to spot such a juvenile attempt at word play.
Sad. Such a sad end to such a promising life. She had been his muse, and more. Her dark hair and emerald eyes had captivated him the moment he saw her in this park very park. It had been nighttime then too, but spring and the air had smelled of flowers and honeysuckle. He was listening to the insects and trying to decide if there was anything that rhymed with cricket. He was going to write a poem about spring nights; about how even in the middle of the city the park seemed like a field in the country. He wanted to list all the beautiful things he could see and hear out here at night, if he could get past the sounds of traffic just past the heads and that damned rhyming problem. He was lying on his back, trying to see the stars through all the light pollution when he saw her.
There was no one there, and suddenly there was. Nevaeh. She wore a thin dress, too flimsy for the cool night air, but she did not shiver. The woman seemed unconcerned about being out in the dark in the middle of the city alone. He had jumped to his feet, started to struggle out of his jacket while her pretty face settled into a puzzled frown.
“Why do you remove your clothing, man?” Her voice was deep and rich and clear, Skylar froze, half out of his jacket, his arms tangled awkwardly behind him.
“Are you not cold?” He asked, watching this strange woman as she looked around her. Her hair was tied up in a knot on the back of her head and he saw the tattoos that covered her back. He would have thought her too upscale and classy for so much ink, but somehow it seemed right. Between her shoulder blades was a large, detailed dragonfly. Even in the dark he could see the artistry and care that must have gone into it. She turned back to him, still standing with his arms trapped in the thin jacket.
“Not at all, but if it is your desire to be so, I will not stop you.” Her voice. Already he had discarded the pastoral poem of the city park in his head and replaced it with half a dozen about her voice alone.
If you had asked Skylar what they spoke of the rest of the night he could not have told you, even under pain of death, he just remembered the sun rising, the next morning while he sat on the dew soaked ground and started at her.
She had been everything to him, his whole world and he would have done anything for her. Had done. The horrible things he had done, but with her there he had been unstoppable. He wrote volumes of poems, more than ever before and they were pure mastery, art in words, and brilliance of the highest order. Everything about her had been perfect, except her heart. That had been as cold as the snow underneath his body.
In the end, she had betrayed him. The piper had to be paid eventually, and tonight had been the night. Neveah had stood there, looking as bored and regal as the night they first met even as to sharp blade pierced his chest. He felt himself fall, felt the snow against his cheek as his life’s blood pooled underneath him. She did not run to him and kneel by his side, holding his head as he breathed his last; she simply took a vial from between her breasts, filled it with his blood and walked away into the night.
Skylar could still she his body lying on the melting snow when the sun started to rise and his world became white hot light and nothing more.