Wan

Wintersweet

A ghastly, bloodless, shadowy woman peeked through the window. Her livid, pale, waxen skin added weariness to her skeletal face. The white eyelashes seemed to flicker, wearily. Her discolored sunken eyes accentuated the emaciated look. She sat near the window every day. Kids walked by on their way to school, their parents on their way to work, each apparently too busy. “They are lost,” was her last thought, two months ago.

Writer's Dash