makeshift christmas tree

March 14th, 2016. 00:10

The air cold. His cheeks and lungs burning with every foggy breathe. It snows softly and gracefully as he stands on the porch. The plows making racket in the distance and cars occasionly slipping by. It is evening already, the day slipped away forever. The evening commutes all done and gone, traffic becoming infrequent. He stands and does nothing. She sits there. On the porch bench watching him. Wrapped in two sweaters and a blanket, yet still uncomfortably cold. Time passes and no sound is made but for that sound of nothing when the snow reaches the earth. Snowblowers start in the distance as men clear their drive-ways. He picks up the tea he had set on the railing and takes a sip. It warms his insides. He turns to say…and then nothing. They simply peer at one anohter. Finally he finds the words, asking if she’s had enough of this cold. She stands, collects her blanket and goes inside as he follows.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.