Oh, little little red ladybug,
How did her fare go with her jug?
"I got nothing" the girl answers, rudely looking back up to her elder sister, "they say that flowers turn white then freezes during the whiteout."
The elder rubs her shoulders and softly replies "But these flowers are so pretty"
"Of course they are, I picked them myself. But all they say is that my flowers will just go to white during the whiteout. They say the colors will all just be white and by the end of the season, they will all wilt."
What a, what a dilemma
It is for the elder sister's karma
Trying to comfort her little sister
Even though the world is becoming bitter.
Why do they even still live in a shack?
In winter whiteout, this house will get sacked
The elder sister lights up the candles
The little sister takes Mr. Teapot's handle
Off she pours hot water in their mug
Before cleaning their table with an old rug
"Will we even survive this whiteout? The adults say that many will die. The whiteout will show no mercy."
My, oh my
"That's not true, " the elder retorts as she takes her mug of hot water. "We are strong and we can get through the season together."
"Say that to this old house. They say that we'd be buried in snow."
"Where have you even learned that Iscilli? That's absolutely not true. Your elder sister will make sure of it. Now, go on and head to bed."
"I don't want to!"
The ladybug grabs a hold of her mug
Whilst leaning on the elder for a hug.
"The whiteout will happen tomorrow. We'd never get to see the sun ever again."
"No Iscilli, the whiteout will only blind the sun white. Ten months later, it will return to normal."
"And one of us will go missing."
…
Speechless, the elder is
Truth hurts when the truth strikes home
One by one, starting with the father of nine
The family declines.
One by one in each winter whiteout
Their hopes of survival, they doubt
"Could be me" the ladybug answers the silence
"No Iscilli."
"Then you?"
The elder bites her tongue, pinching her palm behind her back. Cold winds settle by her nape. A chilling frost blowing out the candles. She takes this moment of lighting them back one to ponder.
"So who?"
"I-" . . . She stares at the weak candle flick. "I don't know."
"I see. Then I'll head out for a while"
"In this hour? No, Iscilli"
"Maybe what they say of our house being cursed is true! Maybe if I go to my friend's house it will be okay. They have more money than us, more piles of bread to last more than four whiteouts…I will go"
"Iscilli…"
Oh non non non non
The little ladybug won
Big elder sister is done
Now off she has gone to see John
“Iscilli? Why are you here?” John answers after opening the door for the little girl in a mudded cloak.
“Let me in John”
“What about your sister? She’s gonna worry.”
“She won’t be after midnight.”
“What do you mean?”
What does she mean?
Oh, the boy must be so clean
For him to not know
Death in snow
“Just let me in please?”
How his heart flutter
Amidst his head is a clutter
How his heart takes her in
His life, now a sin!
As night falls
Sinners must pay their toll
Candle wicks warm the stable
Parents finding John, they are disabled
“I need to go back. They are looking for me.”
The little girl sits silent
A face of malevolence
She looks up at us in the sky
Oh ho ho ho, I guess you won’t cry
“Take this” She gives John a round glass filled with snow.
“A snow crystal ball?”
Chuckling, the girl responds, “no, that’s just an ordinary snowglobe. But it needs a stand, can you make one for me?”
Delighted, the boy’s face against the candlelight
He runs and fro on snow without a care in sight
Calling his parents for his wedge and nails
Today after midnight, he or the elder sister will sail
4 hours later and a bellow can be heard
From the alpine alps and the coming horizon clouds
The ear-shattering sound is not from a bird
The stormy clouds erupt apart and a giant whale emerge
The little girl finds a trail of blood on the snow
She follows it to John’s house now cold winds blow
Candles wick are cold to touch
So as Aunt and Uncle’s skin much
Oh, Johnny Johnny boy, where is he?
The basement maybe?
Oooo, what a surprise
Who knew you can use a bloody hand as a stand.
“Thanks, John” The little girl takes her snowglobe along with the boy’s decapitated hand. “If I hadn’t known of this snowglobe, my sister could have already made me a sacrifice.” The little girl’s figure melts as she…he grows taller, older, with a menacing cloak made out of whale barnacles skin. The snow globe shifted thin into a black stick. His bald elongated head now scraping against the ceiling. He walks out of the house, opens his hands, and calls forth the storm–the whale–the whiteout.
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