A truck rumbling in the very near distance startled Jule to a complete stop. The stillness, that had been trying to catch her, abruptly surrounded her shivering body. Her raspy breath broke through the coolness of the winter air steadily smoky under the midnight moon.
The red sweater that once seemed so warm and comforting suddenly became a conspicuous alien clinging to her back, a beckoning beacon to the truck and its driver. The slam of an all too close truck door dropped Jule to her knees. Burying her face in the snow, her shivering soon subsided as she began to blend with the chilled environment around her.
Then she did it.
Her fragile body went limp and cold with the inviting snow beneath her. The lifeless bushes nearby reached out to hide her. All was dark. All was cold. She was still.
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Original stories and poignant thought from a
former West Coast girl living in a Midwestern
world with a New England heart.
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