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Weekly Contest #308
At this age, a mug of coffee doesn’t do much to warm one’s hands anymore. Thick, cold fingers can fold themselves as tightly as reduced mobility allows, yet the warmth from the ceramic isn’t quite enough to penetrate the weathered surface of frozen, old skin. Old Percy had been nursing this particular mug of coffee for a while now. The rich taste of it coated his mouth after just a single sip of the hot drink. He ran his tongue over his teeth and smacked his lips. It was still too hot to drink; it’s harder to tell when one’s hands have grown...
Weekly Contest #295
Calder adjusted his gloves; a size too big, they didn’t seem to fit quite right. The procession wasn’t particularly long, even if a decent handful of people had shown up. The hymns, the speeches, and the singing had filtered by in a slow, monotonous blur. His watch, annoyingly, was only just hidden beneath the black sleeve of his formal jacket, and he felt it too rude to adjust it and look down at the time, which he was sure was pulling his leg and going by as slowly as possible on purpose. People were crying, as they tended to do at funeral...
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