First of all, if I haven’t said it already… Thank you, Friday Fictioneers, for welcoming me. I’m having a blast reading your stories and receiving your feedback. This is serious fun! For those who aren’t familiar with Friday Fictioneers, check them out here and get in on the excitement.
Second, I realized after the fact that this photo by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is not exactly as I first saw it. The lights are reflected from inside, not shining from outside. The perfectionist in me cringes at this and begs to rewrite the story. The pragmatist says, “Shut up and post what you have.” The pragmatist wins…
Photo Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The Chill of Death
“I couldn’t help it.”
Angelique gulped. “It hurt too much.”
“Next time, don’t wait.” Claire’s voice was soft. “And go to a remote place. Don’t add to their pain.”
Angelique’s last tear fell.
“Honestly, Angelique…” Claire sighed. “The blizzard of the century and you’ve frosted the window on both sides…”
Angelique followed Claire’s gaze. A car stopped before the cabin, its headlights muted by the frosted glass.
“Gabe’s here for you.” Claire sipped her coffee.
Angelique wiped the glass and peered out.
“He drives a Porsche?”
“That’s nothing.” Claire arched a black eyebrow. “You should’ve seen his chariot.”