The Snowman

Harry’s Nike Air Jordans branded the snow as he sprinted across the lawn. This time last year, when his only worry was whether he’d find said trainers under the tree, he’d wished for a white Christmas. Now, the weight of the world on his shoulders, he had bigger things to wish for. Like a Dad who wasn’t in prison, and an end to the creeping dread that something evil lurked inside him, too.

“Exciting, huh?” came a shaky voice. He turned to see old Mr. Morris from next door leaning against the gate, a silvery puff of breath escaping from behind his scarf.

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Commitment to the Cause

Light from the hallway shone through the glass of the door.  A signal to say it wasn’t safe.  She turned away straining to stay calm when time was running out.  The next place was easily a mile away.   Not too far in daylight, but in the dark and with what she carried under her cape it would be difficult.  Nudging the weight into a different position, she cautiously moved on, her arm numb.  The road was quiet, but sensing danger, she slid into the shadow of the wood.  It wasn’t much safer.  If she was caught it would be said that a woman alone at night was asking for trouble. 

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