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Weekly Contest #168
An ice cold pinpricks jolts Arthur. He lifts his eyes up from the concrete and glances around. The clouds had apparently started spilling some rain, and he stands with his lips still parted as stray drops dot him. Others were moving further under the roof, but he stays. The sensation isn’t pleasant, but it’s something. The occasional drop on his cheek and nose soften the redness and tension there. He tries to move his arm and the sheet of paper it’s gripping further under his shabby coat, but he’d already been pressing it to himself so fir...
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