Frozen Morning

The bright light of the dawn greets him with a cheerful glow, sneaking lies between the buildings.

His breath forms thick clouds that mocks him with its resemblance to cigarette smoke. His fingers ache in his tattered gloves. His legs creak as he raises himself from his bed to face the whitewashed town, bleached clean of its sins.

Looking back towards his bed, the cardboard's damp. Ragged sleeping bags and repurposed plastic have brought him into the frozen day.

Children laugh in the distance. The rumble of snowploughs begin, pushing the salt-weakened snow into heaps of black slush.

From Guest Contributor T.W. Garland