The fifth day of this month is my name day. Is red hair enough to burn into your memory? My coffee is getting cold now. His tea is probably cold too. My hands are cold. My mind is not there. It’s nowhere. I can’t stand sitting here anymore. “Thank you. Goodbye.” Outside, it’s windy again. I am not sure if I should go to the right or to the left. I turn left and see a small library building. The lights are off, but you can enter if you know the code. My code is 8465. The doors open soundlessly.
February Fiction (Six)
February Fiction (Six)
February Fiction (Six)
The fifth day of this month is my name day. Is red hair enough to burn into your memory? My coffee is getting cold now. His tea is probably cold too. My hands are cold. My mind is not there. It’s nowhere. I can’t stand sitting here anymore. “Thank you. Goodbye.” Outside, it’s windy again. I am not sure if I should go to the right or to the left. I turn left and see a small library building. The lights are off, but you can enter if you know the code. My code is 8465. The doors open soundlessly.