A single, icy tear began to fall from her warm brown eyes. She kept her gaze focused on the glistening December snow clinging to the road and becoming liquid beneath the tires while she tried to find a way out. I can't do this anymore. Her lips froze shut from the cold and out of faked stability, her unsmoked cigarette leaving a trail of sad, blue smoke through the window and into the freezing winter air. It hurts. Suddenly, everything leading up to this moment became incomprehensible. Why didn't I run? She tried not to think about all the times he backed her into corners, breathing down her neck madly as he screamed incoherently into her face. A chill that ran deeper than December's cold crept up her spine. Being home for Christmas always did this to her. Still, she failed to turn on the heating. She tried to think of far more beautiful things. Tried to keep herself from allowing tragedy to become her own personal failure. Her fingers began to turn blue. She stared coldly through the frozen windshield.
I shouldn't feel this way. Pain meant that she wasn't strong enough. She should have been able to tolerate more, should have been more considerate. Her heart rate increased and blood rushed through her body. Her single, stubborn tear crept down her pale cheeks. Her eyes glazed over.
When she was little, he carried her through the snow when she was too cold. Once, when she forgot her boots at home, he carried her all the way home from school through a snowfall.Things were different now. There was only screaming and disconcert. He wouldn't listen when she asked for him for help. He became irritated when she begged for it. Somehow, when she was little and he cared for her, it was less noticeable when he yelled and pounded his fists and hurt people.
There was no whimpering. No heavy breathing. She at least could appear stronger. Her head pulsed and the skin on her knuckles cracked as she clutched the steering wheel, never turning or swerving. Every time things went wrong, she remained stoic. She faked strong.
Today, she fought back. He's right, I'm fucking stupid. At that moment, she had doomed herself. There was no reason to turn back.
Red and blue lights flashed brilliantly. A sound more beautiful than she could comprehend broke, and suddenly there was stillness. Peace. Blackness.
With her eyes closed and desolation surrounding her, that single, glorious teardrop fell from her face and landed on the ground beneath her.
The devil is in the details, they say, and this passages show it. While a single tear creeps down her cheek we glimpse a history of trauma. It's brutal but well-written.
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