It was dark, only the lampposts and the moon lit the gray buildings.
Her skeletal shadow stood under a light.
One hand in a pocket, the other holding a cigarette, of which the swirled in the freezing air of the evening.
A colder evening, sadder than the others.
She stared empty at her shaky thin, long fingers.
Hypnotised by the gray sphere, she placed her hand in front, as if she could grab it.
The shadow dropped the cigarette, which fell to the ground, and smothered its flame.
She moves, at the end of the street, there is a railway.
She walks in the middle of the rails, her hair blown by the wind.
They get tangled up, like her thoughts.
Blurry, disturbed, elusive.
Her tears floated in the air, her cheeks were wet.
Her lower lip quivering, she bites it until it bleeds.
In the distance, a light approches her, dazzling her immaculate face.
She strokes her arms, searching recomfort, warmth.
She joined the angels.
THE END
YOU ARE READING
Freezing cold.
Non-FictionL'histoire d'une ombre, durant nuit plus glaciale que toutes les autres. The story of a shadow, during a night colder than all the others. There is an English version too.
