His clothes are thoroughly saturated with near-black crimson red and drip-drip-dripping to the snow covered ground. (Blood soaked snow, who wudda thunk it?) Vermillion droplets roll down his face, each little red tear racing to his chin. Some of them didn’t quite make it… they got squished against the crevice of his grinning lips. His sandy hair is glued to his face, tipped with a lovely scarlet color that goes very well with his natural shade of pale yellow-brown.

She’s watching him coyly with a shy little smile tugging at her rosy cheeks. Stray strands of smooth hair fall and rest against her eyelashes with the still-falling snow; she tightens her jacket and snuggles her chin into her scarf. There’s a .45 limply grasped in her slender little hands that looks like it might have been used.

A few little snickers escape his mouth, evolving like little apes. He chuckles heartily as that shiny red liquid cascades from his lips and dribbles down his chin. She watches him still with that gun in her hands and smile on her face. He doubles over, clutching his stomach and laughing so hard…

“I told you it was alright.” He tells her when he sobers.

He’s standing up straight with a this hole through his stomach and another out the back. Snow’s bleached with blood behind him and he’s still laughing with his eyes.

And she’s thinking of just how good it felt to shoot her boy. Yes… it felt good.

So she brings it up and does it again.

More blood to bleach the white-white world around them, what a lovely little playground they’ve got! And he’s still laughing.