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Weekly Contest #35
The air held a deep and biting chill on the morning Will Richardson woke up for the last time. Another heavy storm had come through the night before, re-frosted the streets, and added five inches to the already high drifts of snow the plow had pushed to the curb. Richardson, who had been “Richie” to his Navy buddies, “William” to his wife, and “Commander Will” to the neighborhood since leaving both some twenty years before, leaned against the doorframe and crossed his thin, partially tattooed arms against the cold. He sucked in a breath of w...
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