In The Cold

There is snow falling, and wind blows past the buildings. One building is white. Tall. wide. It has many great wings. In front of this building is a glove, encasing a hand which is attached to a man. With snow and tears, the glove is wet. And in the cold and the wind, it chills the hand inside. The glove is clenched tight, the knuckles stretching.

The glove is removed. Wrapped around the skin is a shining metal band. It is pulled off of the finger on which it used to find peace. A fist squeezes around the band.

Next to a pair of brown leather shoes, salt melts snow. The wind halts and the temperature drops. The new water will soon freeze.

Inside the tall, white building, there is a machine. On its monitor, there is a green line. It leaps. Grasps. Falters. Fails.

Suddenly, a spark in the cold. An engine propels a vehicle forward. Its path is reckless; though this is not the fault of the engine, it may be blamed.

The monitor is rolled away. Like all else, it is extinguished.

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