Wednesday, January 20, 2016

100 Words a Day 773

The door slammed, shutting out the cold. The newcomers were heaped in leather and fur, obviously wearing every article of clothing they possessed. They hobbled towards a large table, using their weapons the way old men use canes. One of them pulled his, or her, I couldn’t tell, hands from the depths of their jacket. The flesh was white like snow. I watched as they tried to flex their fingers and force some sort of warmth back into the tips. The rest leaned their weapons against the wall and fell into the chairs around the table, happy to be alive.

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