A giggle tore itself from Sasha’s throat.
Flaky snowflakes lazily drifted to the thick carpet of white around her.
“Thank you Santa”
she whispered, her breath misting in front of her face.
Sasha hated to admit it but she had
almost stopped believing. After all she was
eleven years old.Her wish for a white Christmas had come true, something
her daddy could never give her.
Then she noticed
the old woman huddled in a threadbare blanket. Sasha immediately knew she was
dead; nobody’s skin should be the shade of overripe blueberries.
“I’ve killed her.” Sasha murmured and began to
shake.
No comments:
Post a Comment