Mrzzzzzzzl

A dimly lit street, she walked alone. In realistic terms of the word, she did appear quite desperately alone to onlookers. A loner — a peculiar, yet sweet and innocent old woman living in quiet solitude. But behind that mask of loneliness, and even beyond that soft, pale skin, was a young girl illuminated and full of life.

The sound of her heels on the freezing road, echoing in the falling night, took her back to the cobblestone streets of her youth, back to the house on Shmireh Drive, and then back to ... that ... and back to ... him ... No, her mind must not linger there for too long. She'd crunched it up inside of her heart and kept it there for 50 years, why let it come out now?

She pulled her shawl tightly about her bony shoulders as an Eastern wind blew frigid air into her eyes, making them water and freeze the moment they caressed her face. Perhaps if she had been like Betsy and started going to the gym when she was more nimble, the walk toward her apartment with groceries in hand would not be the struggle it was proving to be in this moment.

Her footsteps fell into a rhythm, creating an eerie symphony with the blowing wind, creaking trees and the slow, light drizzle of precipitation. Step, creak, roar, drizzle, step, creak, roar, drizzle, it continued for quite some time, for her house was located miles away from normal civilization, step, creak, roar, drizzle, step, creak, roar, drizzle... but the rhythm broke. Her foot could not gain traction on the drizzle which had begun to ice over the cement. She slid backwards in one slow, graceful, movement with her back arched and her shawl still scarcely attached by one end blowing like a kite behind her.

She lay face up on the wet cement, not quite sure if she were really still alive, and quite positive that if she were still alive, gaining the strength to levitate would prove to be a nearly impossible task. Instead of crying out for help to the empty streets, praying that there would be some other soul wandering around at such an absurd hour, she took to simply lying there.

The orange sky and eerie winds were like a book she knew by heart, she could read them so easily. But this was something he had taught her to do in their sacred nights together many moons before. She became angry that even 50 years later, she could still be constantly reminded of something so beautiful, yet so cruel and heartbreaking, so many times in a short day.

She lay there for what could have been hours. Had she wanted to pull herself together and walk home, she probably could have at this point, but there was something in that night air calling her to stay. What a fool she would have looked were anyone to pass her by.

She scooted her fragile frame to a warmer corner near an abandoned building. Her shawl became a blanket and the bag of rice from her grocery sack, a pillow. She had been right about the orange sky. The slush soon turned to beautiful thick snow — the kind of snow that stuck to everything like perfect pieces of nature's grand puzzle. She was feeling sad and nostalgic, but could not keep from smiling at the beauty before her and the precious memories flashing through her mind like an old slide show.


------------

Just got a little inspired to do some creative writing this evening... not really sure where I am going with this... already a little bored with it... not really sure what all the major aspects are behind this elderly woman and her lingering memories.

Suggestions? :)