You're In the Winter Air

The smell of copper filled the air, I stepped back. "What have I done?" The words murmured by my mouth. Now his body lays alone near the ridge to the icy stream. The crisp winter morning ruined by the stench of blood. As the body drained the blood steamed. My actions left me in shock, his glock fell from my hand into the snow. I fell to my knees, my body was numb. All I feel is my body trying to rid itself of adrenaline. All I taste is the cold sweat from my lip. And all I see is his pale dead body before me. My eyes begin to analyse like eyes do. I see his eyes staring at the sky. His stare seems so naive, so weak. I can't get over how pale he's become. His hands covered in his own warm blood from when he grasped his wound. From when he attempted to save himself. From when he was convinced he had a chance. His body never looked so young. Without his substance of life I could finally see his age. He is no longer the white supremacist I now knew him as. His body no longer seems hateful. He is the boy I knew as a child. It is only now that I remember him before the hate. Before his happiness that was pure could only be seen in a glimpse of him. Before his happiness terrified me.