Little They Know, Snow – March 16, 2018 Fairbanks

It was me.

Nobody else can know.

Are they dead?

I sure think so.

Could I say it was an accident?

I think not believably, no.

What does it matter if they find out?

My tires crunched loudly into the gravel of my driveway as I grind the brakes

No, even without anything to lose,

I decide this secret is best left to me alone.

I rush inside my small, quiet home

It was still snowing slightly

Nothing has moved, the fire kept the pipes warm

More than 4 feet of snow and still counting

Temperatures radically dropping

In the back, storage room, a plastic bag in my hand

Sirens approaching in a bundle

I strip most apparel and tuck it into the bag

The gun stays in my hand as I rush out the back door.

Dig down the side of the porch, tuck in the bag, cover the mess

Back inside I ran, still deciding

Gun in hand.

Will I make a standoff?

Too much risk, not the way I’d like to go just yet

Parade of lights beginning to flow past the thick brush of the property

A crunching scramble on slippery snow

And I throw the gun under the nearest tree.

Wait – the hole would show.

They were making the final turn now, engines revving closer…

The branches -the fresh snow

A swift shove to the nearest brings the cover

This will get me some time.

I walk out a few more steps,

Bare skin freezing in the wind

Little they know, thanks to the snow

My hands go into the air as I am surrounded

And I pray we have another long winter.

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