I opened my eyes, and it was snowing.
I was all alone.
I lay there wrapped up in a blanket, looking out at the snow. The TV was playing softly in the corner, but my attention was captivated by the white outside.
I don’t remember how old I was, but when I tried to move my bones ached. It was like tiny pieces of glass were ground into each muscle and joint. But the snow called. It sang to me.
Continue reading this short story by Aimee Hardy that was published in Adelaide Literary Magazine 2019. Read more…