Frostbite: A Short Story

A light flickers.

Through the mist outside the windows, almost indistinguishable through the crystals of ice along the panes, a figure. Tall, but bent over, hands in pockets, the hood on his jacket up. He doesn't feel the cold outside; he feels it inside, like a shard of ice pierced deep in his heart.

He tries to ignore it. Day by day, carrying out his routine, trying to make himself believe that everything's fine- even when it's not.

There's an empty feeling. The ice that pierced his heart cuts deeper with every passing hour. He tries to suppress the feeling of pain, but it grows stronger and he can't control it. It makes him want to scream, want to die. But he can't, so he runs. Down the icy roads, deserted streets, he runs 'till he can run no more.

Panting, he crouches on the street. The snow coating the pavement bites at his fingers. The cold seeps through his coat.

Then, across the street from him; a sob. Small, quiet, but still there. Another broken heart. Her tears freeze on her face. And she looks up, and he looks up; the shard of ice melts, and the two hearts, broken and shattered beyond recognition, are made whole once more.