Jack, Frost.

(This flash fiction is part of my friend, Loren Eaton’s, shared storytelling holiday venture, Advent Ghosts. This is the one I did last year. Other stories can be found on his blog, I Saw Lightning Fall. Again, I set it to music… so click the Youtube link first).

She lurched forward, aching and tired, and Jack berated her with a contempt that, regardless of how much he unleashed onto her, only amplified. He nipped, he bellowed, he aimed the biting, blistering discharge of his sorrow onto her. He apologized with obliging guilt and stiffness. And she cried and cried until, slowly, she began to turn black and numb.

Her mind found him supernatural, and infinitely more substantial than her small, sad life.

He knew she was warmth. But eons of sting and sorrow colored her only reactions he could recognize. Until finally she was black and numb, as well.