The snow comes down in a flurry, with a wind so powerful it almost makes you believe something more then science has to be behind it. Maybe this particular storm is the work of Boreas a God of the wind and snow, maybe he’s angry, or maybe its warm and cold air colliding, or maybe its storming just because it can. Whatever the reason, this storm was strong. The snow turning more and more like hail causing those out on the street to seek shelter in the nearest shop or restaurant.
One woman watches the storm from a small antique store surrounded by treasures, and yet, she just stands, gazing out the window. She puts her hand to the glass, her eyes red, and face wet from tears. A memorial card is clutched in her other hand which hangs limply at her side. On it is the picture of a small child, a girl. A man goes into the store, he looks at the woman and seeing her state he quickly looks down and makes his way farther into the store. Its funny how well we can ignore eachother’s pain.
The storm lets up and people by the dozens head back into the street going about their business, making their way home. The woman also goes. She walks and keeps walking until she is stopped by a 95 Chevrolet Blazer. The snow turns red and the memorial card flutters to the ground, the little girl smiling at the sky. The man in the shop joins those who gather around the woman’s body, he picks up the Memorial card. “The ambulance is on its way” one person says, “It’s to late,” says another. The man looks away from the broken woman once again.
This story was based on a storm and a woman in an antique store, the rest is fiction.