Story Snapper

The Bite

There stood a red-bricked house, semi-detached, with a golden sheen licking its exterior. Common but beautiful. I daren’t peel my floral netted curtains any further. Someone might have noticed me, thought something of me. They always had. I wondered though…who lived there? Were they happy? Rich? Poor? Lonely?

I tore myself away from my single-glazed windows, where through the netting, frost clawed at the glass and sat down. Only for a moment. My back creaked as I rose from the damp sofa. Bending down took several minutes, but eventually, I got low enough to turn the gas fire on. Click. Click. Pow. Crackle. Ah, warmth. I rubbed my hands together, my icy little bones sighing in relief.

The letter from my bank stood on the vacant mantle like a red siren. Off! Off! Stupid. Turn it off. My bones shivered again. The bitter chill in the air clung to my skin like fire to lumps of coal, and standing fearful, hunched over in this barren, misunderstood room, I felt like sleeping.

Writer. Faith walker. Notebook collector. Coffee drinker. Coffee Drinker. Coffee Drinker. Mother of two...and counting... @BathSpaUni MA CW grad.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *