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The Boy Who Never Lived

The lady in white appeared out of nowhere, running through the vast, untouched snow. For a moment she stood still, her head turned back toward where she came from, barely noticing a tower made of ice. Behind it, lights blazed in the night sky. They moved like celestial rivers flowing through the atmosphere, bathing everything from the white hills to the black horizon in a red mist. Her body tensed, reacting to a gust of wind. A breeze scattered her dark hair across her bruised, pale face, sending a cloud of snow into the air. After a moment, she continued running ahead, despite having no idea where she was heading.


There was no plan, but the where wasn’t as important as the why or the who. And she hadn’t been able to put much thought into the how. There wasn’t enough time to think, only run.  

Though fully clothed, the snowy wind wrapped around her like cold fingers, sending chills down her spine. Her clothes were loose enough to flow, but tight enough to show that her belly was much too large for her petite frame. Her life wasn’t the only one she was saving.

Reminding herself of the why and who was the only thing that kept her legs moving.

No matter which direction she chose, there was nothing but white—and the red reflection of the sky—as far as her eyes would allow her to see. Her eyes, swollen. Her body, bruised.

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