icy wind, sharp as shards of glass, cut through his frayed blanket. He was no
stranger to winter on the streets. He remembered at least 10 of the 14 years of
his young life but it had never been this bad. He closed his eyes praying for
… something warm against his back. He sat up abruptly, warily. Two large eyes
looked back at him, desperate, beseeching.
in the night ... they stared at each other.
he extended his blanket.
then they slept ..
and receiving warmth.
Boy and dog.
Labels: 100 words on Saturday, fiction, street life, Write Tribe