Short Fiction #33 Phillip

Phillip pulled the old rugged coat closer to him. The howling wind whipped around the meagre shelter. Sudden gusts of air chilled his face and exposed fingers. The icy block in his feet and shins numbed any feeling. He stood up and tried to get the circulation going again.

Phillip cautiously peeped around the edge of the old tin shed. Dark clouds were scudding in his direction. A sudden blast of air brought a limb of a tree to the ground nearby. He tried in vain to hug the threadbare coat even closer. A loose sheet of iron rattled on the roof. A squall of rain drummed on the roof and walls followed by the hammering of hail.

Phillip reached into his pocket. He brought out his only box of matches. Four left. He would have to be very careful lighting a fire to keep warm tonight. He guarded his small cache of dry wood in the corner of the shed. As he crouched on the freezing ground he huddled into a ball and wrapped his coat around his legs. The pounding hail vibrated through the wall and rattled his teeth.

He tried to sleep.

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Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel

 

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