by That Grrl
A snowflake fell past the window, softly, like a teardrop. Beyond her dark silhouette, reflected on the window, the motel room was quiet. The man on the bed, silent, like the snow. Only the good die young; she could expect to live a very long time. Outside the snow flew past the window, faster, becoming a blizzard. She picked up her coat and left, a fire breathing dragon disappearing into the snow.
That Grrl, a Canadian rural explorer, writes less than she'd like to. She blogs to make it up to herself.