Fleeting

My mouth is open, a desperate breath hissing between bloody lips. It might be a scream, but I can't hear it. My fingers brush an earlobe and come away wet. The blood dotting my fingers is beautiful in its own way, a crimson red against the ice below.

Flashes of memory streak through my throbbing head and I double over, writhing in pain. Dad's belt coming down between my shoulders when I was a toddler, mom's hands slapping my ears when I hadn't yet learned to read. And just hours ago... maybe minutes...the grenade. Spiraling into my room through air heavy with the smell of liquor.

My dazed mind wonders where dad even got the grenade. Possibly from his military days before he was kicked out for stealing weaponry. I was by the window, judging whether or not the fall would kill me when it happened. I had hoped the fall would, but I should have known better. I'm not that lucky. I'm alive. After everything, I am still alive. It dawns on me that the world has gone quiet. Too quiet. The ringing in my ears has faded, replaced with a bitter silence. I wonder if I have gone deaf, but the thought flits only breifly through my mind, like one of those sunbeams that used to shine on the kitchen floor before dad boarded up the windows. I wonder if my parents are still alive. If their madness continues on the other side of the riverbank that separates us. I watch as the stars continue to glow faintly overhead, despite the column of smoke spiraling towards the sky. For the first time in a long time I don't think of tomorrows survival, but rather the beauty of the night. Life is too fleeting to ignore the present.