Lynn knelt over the warm radiator which heated the
main parlor. Sleepily, she stared out into the snowy
wasteland of the front porch. Snow dunes and ice
mountains doted the desolate landscape. Jack Frost
painted gleefully on the ice cold window pains. And in
the silent wind, the swinging couch rocked gently back
and forth, sweeping her mind back into those long lost
days of late summer.

Lynn stumbled blindly through the smoke filled alley.
Cloudy-headed, she could not think, she could not hear,
she could not see, the things she had done. Behind her a
corpse lay in a pool of its own rancid blood. Entrails
thrown to the wind, body ripped from neck to navel, its
skin crawled with white agents of decay. The smoke
grew darker, billowing out into the night sky from the
kitchen window. Lynn coughed, and gasped, and
stumbled away from the destruction she had
unwittingly wrought.

Beyond the haze, she reached for those summer nights.
She wished for those days when she could just sit on
her porch and dream of life should could be living.

(anon)