The night was alive, creating light in flickers and flurries.
A toothy gale blowing from the lake had brought friends along and together they had decided to take over the world, devouring space as they went and smothering sounds in their ardor.
White specks danced, whirled and flummoxed, drawing the eyes in to suck out the souls as we all stood there, enthralled, looking up at the invader. There was an attack as they lashed and caressed, burning everything they touched, and we stampeded back to the safety of our homes, spying the advance from behind heavy curtains, hoping for the ballet to swiftly go through the place and disappear. We watched as the enemy claimed the bodies–and souls–of those without shelter, as our world morphed into a glittering coffin of white.
Lethal flakes hissing
Blanket of white flying in
The world holds its breath
A white substance covered everything, suffocating the world.
Under the purple light, the earth stood still. For the longest heartbeat. Then another. And another. We forgot we were alive, not daring to believe, yet not willing to disbelieve at the same time.
Then it started to move.
At first we thought the gale had come back and was pulling at its friends. Or maybe this was our hope. The white army would now rise again and leave our realm to spread death in some other corner, in some distant boroughs. We might make it through the night still.
When the snow spiders crept inside our houses for the final strike, they found us unprepared.
Their sting icy cold
A dose of rigor mortis
Life faded to white.