Literature
a breath of winter wind
It's cold.
She's not sure what she expects. Snow stretches out far as the eye can see - a blanket of undisturbed, endless white from horizon to horizon, interrupted only by the smoking heap of skeletal, disjointed metal wreckage that was, at one point, a plane. She stands maybe ten yards away, glassy-eyed and trembling. Her fingers are crusty with blood that’s spilled from the gashes on her arm and, worse than that, rapidly growing numb, but she still finds the ring, and, in desperate search of some cold comfort, feels out the band. Wind whistles around her, knotting her hair into tangles. It’s not too bad yet, she thinks; at le