2310. The snowstorm © Bruce Goodman 20 December 2021 |
It was dark. I couldn’t see a thing as I inched my way home through the snowstorm. It was the coldest storm in decades. I had to make it home or die. Suddenly icy fingers grabbed my left wrist. “Who is it?” I asked. There was no answer. I tried to free myself from the grip. “Who is it?” I asked again. Still there was no reply. I thrashed with my right arm, flaying it about so as to hit the owner of the grip. There seemed to be no one there. “Please let me go,” I said. “Please let me go.” The grip was released. My frozen mesh stainless steel watchstrap had fallen off. I made it home. Back to Index Next Story Previous Story |