He showed up in their little town when the weather began to bite, treetops the hue of sticky honey.
The scrappy sort; straggled hair, patchy beard. Bobbed and bolted around like a shorebird.
His eyes darted around the bustling diner—again
He ordered eggs, retreated to the parking lot—again.
Long looks at the white Mazda’s fender.
Maggie watched him, eyes blinking furiously as they scanned the dents.
She could feel the cold coming, the thick darkness.
She brought his order, her smile a tight red line. Maggie paused then walked off, rubbing a jagged scar, listening to the screams.
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Biography: Nikki is a copywriter and culture journalist. Her work appears in The Citron Review, Ellipsiszine, Sublunary Review, LEON Literary Review, Sky Island Journal, Literary Yard, PreeLit, Nymphs and Door Is A Jar. She munches trail mix and takes stunning photos when not busy writing. She tweets: @ohsashalee / See more: linktr.ee/writenowrong
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Image: unsplash.com
