The snow was deeper than it looked, cresting the tops of his thin shoes, soaking his socks until his toes were numb except for the occasional needle pricks of cold. His hands were warm enough, deep in the pocket, wrapped loosely around the coil of rope.
With irritation he saw that, on this of all mornings, the Round House was open. People cradled steaming cups as they joked and laughed with one another.
He had forgotten how bare trees were in winter, how far you could see through them, especially something hanging from a branch.
He would go further, then.
His state of mind is well captured, good piece of writing.
Dear J Hardy,
Great job of setting the stage. I felt the cold.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Nicely crafted piece, brings us neatly to the denouement.
Nicely done. His irritable desperation comes through.
Agreed. Sad desperation well captured!
Felt the cold and the warmth. Good one
Chillingly written.
Suicide in Winter
It is a season which pretty much makes it seem like a preferable alternative…especially somewhere around March.
This character is up to no good…effectively written!
Oh no! He should see this as a hint from fate and join the laughing people. Very sad and hopeless: in a good way :)
As chilling as the hard snow numbing his toes. Oh, I hate that feeling! A pleasure to read.
Excellent piece! The rope adds equal amounts of suspense, horror and sociopathic calm. Well done.
chill of the setting meets the chilling tale nicely.
Powerful prose, J. Hardy. The foreshadowing gives us just enough of a clue that the ending works without jarring. Well told.
MG