Cold

(yes, i realize that i never really finish anything i write. idk if it's because i'm lay, or unmotivated.)

The cold nips her heels, and numbs her hands. It pulls on her arms, and tugs her hood down, snatching up her precious warmth.

A girl walks down a path in an evergreen forest, wearing only jeans, running shoes, a long-sleeved turtleneck, and a vest with a hood. It had snowed only the night before, but a rain had followed, making everything either slippery or crusted with a layer of crunchy, icy snow. At least it was satisfying to walk through, and a thick layer of dead, brown needles softened her steps.

The girl, with grey eyes and long, blonde hair stepped through the woods quickly, glancing around as if something were hiding in the trees, ready to snap her up. She stuffs her cold hands into her pockets, her fingers slow and hard to move.

The girl's breath rolls from her slightly parted lips, and disappears into the frigid air around her. She sniffs, her nose running due to the winter chill.

The girl had no purpose now. She had no cause. No goals. Nothing to win, nothing to gain from anything anymore. She didn't know what to do, apart from running away from the concequences of her actions.
One step at a time, Annabelle.

Tears well up in the girl's eyes, memories pulling down at her chest, squeezing away the numbness. Regret and longing slow her steps, choking her throat. "I'm sorry..." the words felt sour. They didn't mean anything, they couldn't bring back the dead. Couldn't undo what had been done.

(probably won't ever finish this, so why not publish it.)

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