.38 and the slow snow

I found stains of blood in snow under the firm and old pine tree. Somebody had been wriggling there, bleeding. I noticed some tracks leading deeper to the forest, almost covered by softly falling snow. I started to follow these tracks deeper to dimming wood. As I observed the tracks I spotted more bloodstains every here and there. I tried not to step on those reddish spots that looked like large moles on utterly pale skin. Obviously I wasn’t careful enough, I found that my feet were smoothly covered in thin layer of blood. I wandered a bit that I wasn’t freezing already. It was so cold that every exhale created a thick cloud of steam, which slowly blurred and passed as the next cloud followed. I stood there studying tracks, leading onward, and clouds at sky mixing with fumes that I breathed.

This calm moment of mine was abruptly interrupted by feeling of being watched. I spotted nothing despite of careful observation of dusky forest. Still I couldn't shake myself free from the feeling of being watched. Suddenly I spotted a glimpse of shining metal between couple of large erratic boulders. I approached carefully, and figured that it was a .38 revolver half-covered by the snow. When I picked it up to my shaking hand, the barrel felt warm and comfortable to my cold fingers. It was these short barreled ones. Silhouette of the gun had molten to the snow under my shadow. Altough I usually felt uneasy when firearms were concerned, this pistol seemed to be strong, carefully made, and it's carefully brushed skin and handle made of some weird red wood blinked hypnotically with the slowly falling snow.

Chamber was almost full. Five coppery cylinders caught my eye agains monochomatic blue-hued trees and snow. Then I realized the obvious connection between these colours! Of course! Silver, white and blue. Red and copper. Red and copper... one side of two triangles was missing. Silver, white and blue... red, copper and... Idea of missing colour and it's possible source suddenly struck me. My frostbitten hand lost it's grip from the handle of the gun. Gun hit the soil and everything flashed painfully, then dimmed.

I opened my eyes. I was lying on the ground, bleeding and breathing like a dying animal that I was. Reddish puddle under me was slowly getting bigger and bigger. Pain was tighting it's grip with every inhalation of freezing air. I should try to move on. Run, walk, crawl. Something. Quick. But I just couldn't get up. It wasn't the pain that held me down, but the feeling that these legs of mine were no longer my property (whose the if not mine?). I started to crawl back where I came from. Those old stains were almost covered in snow, which was still gently falling starlit dark blue sky. I my own voice screaming to me to keep on crawling. But when I started to mutter the word that I just heard again, I realized couldn't speak because of the pain. Also my lips were almost glued together by cold and dry air. I still saw nobody else around me, so the source of that voice had to be me. Right? It had to be. The spot where I left was just few yards aways from me, under a huge pine tree. I crawled towards the tree and felt my pain getting too hard to control anymore. My tracks were almost covered by slowly falling snow.