ShadowWriters

War drove men to this. I had never planned to spend Christmas 1944 here. But here I was. It was biting into me, its invisible teeth seeping into my skin and stealing any warmth I desperately clung to. The warmth of the American summer was a bittersweet memory as the cold surrounded me, trapped me, and slowly began to suffocate me. Its disturbed fingers ran across my face, caressing me, drawing me closer with the promise of a gentle release, but at the cost of a terrifying, unyielding death. It mocked me. The wind seemed to join in with the ridicule, swirling around and around as I struggled to keep moving through the trees, mist and snow. I

I'm not even sure why I'm here.  I barely knew him as a father or much of anything.  I knew he was a drunk and a plague to my family and I.  He left us only debt upon his death.  When I received the phone call I wasn't surprised I'd end up here one day. I'm now outside the hospital smoking my last cigarette.  I emotionally feel nothing but I can feel the cool crisp air on my face; it leaves my fingers numb.  I find a place to sit on a bench avoiding the bird feces and wads of gum.  As I wait for the mortician to call me in my cold fingers trace small circles on the window pane. My mother told me he was intoxicated and walked into oncoming t