- The Snowball Of Love -

I’m 6 Years Old.
I breath in,
the world seems to suffocate,
my longs fill with the frozen air of the northland.
I look down to notice the small footprints the little girl made.
I turn,
the girl stands there,
smiling back at me.
Standing behind her is her cool-aid stained-upper-lip little brother.
His hands are full of snow.
He whips the snow at me,
the ice chunk smacks me in the side of the head.
I fall.
The soft light from the high sun makes my head swim.
The last words I hear before blacking out seem to fade on forever
‘Ya think he’s dead?  Ya think he’s dead?  Ya think he’s...’