The snow alighted on Macy’s face softer than her mother’s kisses and just as cold as those memories. She pulled her flimsy coat tightly around herself ignoring the icy winds wrapping around her like a shawl woven from the snow. Her fingers were numb and she was losing all sense of time. How long had she been standing? All she wanted to do was get out of here, to some place with a little heat, a warm room or even a heated car. Right now she would have gone with anyone who offered her that, even if it meant being used again.
Written for Friday Fictioneers in response to photo prompt by Sarah Potter