He’d insisted that if there was ice I was to come straight home. I promised I would. But there wasn’t. In fact it was a good winter’s morning – cold but still. I walked stiffly, as if my legs were iron. And it wasn’t long before I lost all feeling (other than a kind of stinging numbness) in all my extremities. I remember the pain of cold hands as a child. And it was pain. A sensation that was sometimes made worse by going into a warm environment. Is this was frost-bite feels like? I thought as I walked. The rest of me was as warm as toast, it was just my hands and feet. No one was about, except a tall, rangy student who loped past me, no gloves on his hands. I didn’t check to see if the rough sleeper was still in the Prom’s shelter. He can’t be, surely not?
One written, one more to go. And I’ve no idea what I’m going to say.
