With Thanksgiving and then Black Friday yesterday, I didn’t get my Friday Fiction post up on Friday, so I moved it to Saturday. This is a short Flash Fiction that I wrote about a year ago with the prompt of “cold night.” I hope you enjoy.
The cold chill was soaking into her with iron-clad fingers. It was wrapping around her, holding her tight, like a thick fog clutches at the early morning earth.
With bluing, stone-cold fingers, she tightened her grip as a shiver ran through her. The very bones in her arms seemed to turn to ice as she clenched the old polyester sweater that covered her pale ivory arms.
What was she doing here? Why had she agreed to meet him here?
He was never going to come. Men!
Stomping her feet again and again, she tried to revive the feeling in her toes.
“Damn it!” The curse erupted from out of nowhere, assaulting the still, moonlit night with its presence.
If she would have known she would be waiting, she would have dressed accordingly.
The cold refused to leave, and so did she.
As the sun opened its sleepy eyes and peaked up over the top of the distant mountains, a man strolled just as slowly from around the back of the hundred-year-old building. Her eyes followed him as he strolled the opposite direction.
She looked back to the old building. Slowly, her frozen feet began to carry her in the direction from which the man had come.
The air was still, nothing seemed to breathe.
Not even the scantily clad woman lying stiff on the ground.