Christ, Der Retter Ist Da!

 Jack stood looking out the window holding the thick cloth of curtain between his index and middle finger.  Below him the wind tinkered with the dilapidated Christmas lights strung from concrete lampposts and skeletal trees.  It swung on the twisted wire bloating and then shrinking the shadows of the loitering dusk, suppressing the festive charm with its brisk surge.

School children, with their mobiles and cigarettes, strutted in collective groups and false assumptions of adulthood, oblivious to the chill, their carefree shouts adding somehow to the bogus scene.

Even the weather was false.  Rain fell from a sky that had promised snow, although it was more drizzle than rain, a wet blanket of fine mist quashing the spirit of the season dampening all that glittered from the keenly lit windows of the high street.

His breath moistened the glass smudging the scene like an out of focus lens, evoking distant memories.  He smiled at their warmth.

Extract from ANGELYSTOR (a Torchwood story)
 Copyright RMC 2008

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