Snow

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It crunches under my boot, the untouched crisp layer of white snow. I stare out over the ridge and I see another town. I feel another life seep into me, and I feel older, wiser.

I slump down under a tree and pick up a handful of snow. It crumbles at my touch.

Typicall. I think bitterly. Even snow can't stand my presence.

A cold flush of air whistles around me and I pull my coat tighter around me. I remember when I was younger and I used to hate winter, it was as if the world was dead, I remember I used to say. Now, however, I like this season for exactly that reason. The cold, the silence. It all keeps people away. That's what I want. To be left alone. I miss people, I truly do.

They just don't miss me.

JackWhere stories live. Discover now