7. Millen is death?!

How much sadness does one need for it to turn into anger, pure rage?

Kristina stood in an empty house. Her mother honked in a car. She grabbed her bag and left.

Kristina never expected that her mother would even consider visiting her parents after what her father, Kristina's grandfather, did. Everything felt too rushed. Behind Kristina's twenty-one-year-old face, freshly baked out of her teenage years, hid a deeply suppressed feeling.

Kristina looked out of the window. Her mother hummed along with a radio. 

What could be on her mind? - she could never guess what was happening in her mother's head.

It was fourteen years since her father's tragic death, and Kristina wasn't one to forgive or forget such a thing so easily.

However, as they arrived, everything seemed normal. There was no tension - no sparkle that could light a forgotten resentment. It was perhaps too peaceful. A fragile peace that can be easily shattered by even the slightest change.

A figure hidden in the shadows of the depth of a night watched them from afar. 

One step closer, put on your wig. Two steps closer, black contact in eyes. Three steps closer, knife in a pocket. Four steps closer, backpack on your back.

Kristina's grandfather took them to a pub to celebrate their reunion as a family. They all drank heartily and enjoyed themselves. 

Millen felt sick, so she went outside to go to the bathroom.

Five steps closer, she's alone.

Kristina couldn't stand the stuffiness of the pub, so she went out to catch a breath of fresh air. It was a beautiful yet cold night. The sky was clear, the moon full, and the stars sparkled like mesmerizing jewels.

Kristina saw a person dressed in black head to the outside bathroom. She didn't think much of it and sat on a bench admiring the night sky.

When Millen entered the bathroom, she was disgusted by its state. However, she went into one of the stalls and shut the door behind herself. Her stomach twisted and turned - she threw up everything she ate and drank into this filthy toilet.

She heard someone enter. A light knock on the stall she occupied and another - Millen wiped her mouth.

"It's occupied," she choked out, throat sore and itchy from her digestive fluids.

The person knocked again.

"Occupied," Millen repeated in a harsher tone.

A handle rattled. Millen flushed a toilet. The handle rattled again, and before Millen turned around, they kicked the door open. She gasped, falling backward on a toilet seat.

"Are you that drunk?" Millen asked, trying to ease the atmosphere.

However, she didn't get an answer - only eerie silence remained. Millen scratched her head as she stood up, trying to walk past this person. Hand in a latex glove shoved her roughly back on the toilet seat. Eyes with a pitch-black iris stared into the depths of her soul.

Knife in a pocket. A hand in a latex glove patted her head, the other reaching for a knife.

Millen felt lightheaded - she couldn't think straight. Was this her end? Goosebumps ran all over her back.

One swing of a knife, targetting the main artery, landed on her neck. The natural reflex of a body was to reach up to stop the bleeding, which was what Millen did.

Kristina couldn't relax properly. All the chatter mixed with the loud, outdated music - made her head throb. She heard a quiet peep. Was there a fight?

One step closer, shove her on the wall. Millen coughed as her back hit the wall. One hand clasped around Millen's neck, taking away her consciousness. The warm essence of life heated the hands of a killer.

"Am I not always welcome?" the voice resonated in Millen's head with strange familiarity. 

Millen's eyes widened. "This-" she didn't get to finish her sentence before losing consciousness. 

The person stood there like a haunting shadow over her motionless body.

"You shouldn't have been so nice to me," voice shook. Another stab, "Why did you have to be so caring?! I never asked for this!" 

Madness - this could be described as nothing more than a madness possessing one's mind, the horrendous art of a killer on a spree.

One stab after another - the unresponsive body of once dear woman laying on a filthy floor. Crimson spread all over the floor, filling every crack. Droplets of this crimson essence of life splash all over the place, clinging stubbornly on every surface.

Kristina looked around. Her mother was gone for way too long. She slowly strolled to the bathroom. On her way there, she bumped into someone.

Kristina had a weird gut-wrenching feeling. She strode to the bathroom.

"Oh," Kristina couldn't find words as she discovered the violated body of her mother lying in a pool of blood.

Maybe death was never poetic. Maybe there was no deep meaning at all. Maybe the blood was just red.

This winter didn't need any snow, not that nature allowed her offspring to be covered in any. This winter is warm and peaceful; as much as winter can ever be. No, this is merely a pathetic excuse for the harsh coldness this winter brought.