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Weekly Contest #163
A strand of hair wriggled itself from under Maxine's beanie. She snapped after it by reflex, only to be pushed back by bone-chilling fear. Of course, her hair wouldn’t fall – it was attached to her head. It would be Maxine plunging to the street fifty-three stories below, were she to shift her weight forward by carelessly stretching out her arm. She stepped down from the windowsill, back into the barricaded hotel room, ignoring voices and sirens echoing off neighbouring skyscrapers. A gale seemed to penetrate every cranny of her coat, freezi...
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