A Plethora of Pens, Paper, and Purpose discussion

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This is a short story I wrote for a competition on another group. It's called 'Tear Stains in the Snow'.

Gentle snowflakes drifted from the dull, heavy mountains of cloud. They settled lightly atop Frieda’s eyelashes, rested on her rosy cheeks where streaks had been left by soft tears. The cool breeze swept her auburn hair away from her face, silently carrying the snow from her head, only to be replaced by more miniscule flakes.

She stood motionless under the drooping, snow-covered leaves of a weeping willow. Her eyes stared across the snow, but she never truly saw what surrounded her. All that flashed across her vision was Klaus’ ice-cold flesh, his ghostly white face, the spot of blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth. She replayed the images over and over again in her mind; Klaus’ corpse being lowered into a simple wooden coffin; the coffin itself sinking into the grave, only supported by a few ropes.

Frieda never registered her family and friends, or Klaus’ family, or the priest, or the gravediggers. She had only watched the coffin as her tears slowly blurred her vision. She didn’t listen to the eulogies, or the prayers wishing Klaus peace in Heaven. Frieda wasn’t even sure Klaus had been sent to Heaven. She wasn’t sure of anything now.

Frieda was vaguely aware of the others murmuring in clusters or the women sobbing uncontrollably into handkerchiefs. She glanced down as a pure white rabbit bounded through the snow, leaving a trail of shallow paw prints. The rabbit paused, sat up on its hind legs, twitched its nose as a snowflake landed directly on top. Then it turned to face Frieda, hesitated and scurried away into a bush-just like was Klaus had done. Except this time, he had scurried away into the bitter arms of Death.

“The snow-it’s beautiful isn’t it?” Frieda watched her mother approach out of the corner of her eye, her vision still trained on the meadow ahead. Frieda didn’t reply.

Her mother wrapped a gloved hand around Frieda’s shoulder and drew her close. “He was such a fine boy, you know. I could see that he truly loved—”

Frieda whirled around, her blank expression transforming into one of anger mingling with grief. “I don’t want to talk about him. Not in that way,” she snapped.
Then the anguish faded from her face as she looked into her mother’s eyes, and she dropped into the snow. She lent back against the willow’s trunk, averting her eyes from her mother by brushing the white flakes off her coat. “Just go,” she murmured.

Her mother sighed wistfully. She waited for a moment before turning and trudging away, her thick boots crunching on the blanket of white.

It wasn’t long before Frieda’s father joined her against the tree. He remained silent for a minute or two, watching the crystal snow smother the ground. He then opened his mouth to speak, but Frieda cut him off. “If you’ve come to comfort me, I don’t need it.”

Her father pressed his lips together, sighing. “L-Look, Frieda. Just listen for a moment.” He paused, and when his daughter finally nodded, he continued. “Klaus…you know I never liked him like your mother did. I always scowled at him when he came over, or-or stopped him from kissing you once.” He chuckled, and Frieda couldn’t resist a smile herself. She remembered that day, when Klaus leaned in to peck her on the lips. But before he could, her father rushed over and pushed him away, trying to distract him with some pointless task.

“Well, one day he approached me,” her father continued. “It was…an hour before he left; before the…c-collision. He told me that, if anything were to happen to him, I had to tell you that…” Frieda’s father looked at her with a sorrowful expression. “He asked me to give you this. Here, I’ll give you a moment to read it.”

Frieda watched her father draw a wrinkled piece of folded paper out of his coat pocket. He handed it to Frieda with a trembling hand. Frieda hoped it was only because of the cold. Her father rested a hand on her shoulder and gave her a wan smile before getting to his feet and walking away.

Frieda unfolded the paper in angst. A few paragraphs were scrawled onto the page. It looked like someone had wrote them in a hurry. Frieda bit back a smile as she read the first sentence.

To the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on,

Frieda, as you know, I have to leave in a few short days. I’m sorry it had to be this way; I definitely would’ve brought you along if I could, but—

The sentence continued, but it had been too scribbled out for Frieda to read it. She skipped to the next sentence.

I want you to know that you are one fantastic girl, and believe me when I say it broke my heart to leave you. I love you so much. I love your eyes, your hair, your teeth that are so much straighter than mine-everything. And you know it. I know that you loved me that much too. I’ll always keep that one half of our photos together and the first video game we bought, but I know you’ll collect—

Again, the rest of what Klaus had written was scrawled out. Frieda frowned, confused. What had he said, and why hadn’t he wanted her to read it?

It is so hard trying not to write about this. But I don’t want to keep you out of the dark. I’ll have to tell you though-maybe I shouldn’t have crossed out those words. I know what’ll happen to me on that road. I know there’ll be a crash. I know you’re confused now, and probably sad. And angry. But I hope your parents will tell you soon. I didn’t want to tell you, I couldn’t bear to ‘cause I knew you’d stop me. I killed myself, Frieda. I just hated myself. I hated my past, everything that I had done. I couldn’t live with the guilt for much longer. It was only way out I saw.

But Frieda, I still loved you. You and my family were my last thoughts before I hit that car. I loved you so, so much and I still do now.

Klaus

Frieda read the letter over and over again. Oddly, she felt nothing. Only emptiness, only a deep, dark abyss that threatened to pull her down to its depths. Eventually, she could only succumb to it.

One small tear trickled down Frieda’s cheek. It stained the snow with a small circle. Frieda let another tear trail down her face, and a third, and then a fourth. She sobbed into her hands, a few tears escaping and splashing onto the letter, which she had dropped into the snow. And there she sat, consumed by grief, a huge lump preventing any words from leaving her mouth. Finally, between racking sobs, she managed to whisper into her hands, “I loved you too, Klaus.”