Scarlet Fingerprints

Okay, this is an entry for this contest. Just thought I'd post is as a journal since I found out about the contest merely minutes ago and wrote the first thing that came to my mind.

Her fingerprints were painted in the transparent glass. The curved lines engraved in her fingertips now adorned the transparent window, and even though she only had ten fingers, hundreds of splotches of red ink now swayed before my content eyes. Her desperation was tangible and asphyxiating around me, but I was used to the feeling of breathing the guiltiness in the atmosphere; feel it littering my lungs and choking me. I always survived. They never did.

I opened the door to what had been her unusual coffin, the remorse slowly but certainly dissipating as I felt the icy air filling up my lungs and allowing me to think calmly once again. My cooled brain photographed her immobile form before me, my pupils x-raying her flesh and ribcage until I was able to see her meek, tattered heart beating its last beats. They really never lived, soaking the ice around them until hypothermia annihilated their pathetic cells.

I grabbed a pair of cubic ices, tantalizingly placing them atop her neck as her translucent eyelids opened at the coldness that was engulfing her. Soon enough, she wasn't blinking anymore, just like she'd stopped banging on the door. It was always the same: their pitiful cries echoing in the freezing chamber while they punched the glass that was trapping them, hitting it with such a force that soon their fists were bloody fists.

Her eyelashes were coated in snowflakes, rigid and lifeless just like the rest of her facial expressions. Her mouth was twisted in an agonized shape, but her screams had faded along with her voice a long time ago. And there she laid, bloodstream paralyzed beneath the snow-white skin. Her once sickeningly black hair now sprinkled with dots of white. They always had the most hilarious poses when they finally exhaled their last breath, those stupid idiots.

And so I stood up and walked away, closing the door to the refrigerator where I'd locked her in. It worked effectively; the frostiness always preserved their pallid corpses, since I never quite liked the stench of the dead.