Autumn

Thunderstorm

It's raining

Of course it is

The universe hates her

She put the notebook in a ziplock bag in a plastic bag

From her tattered backpack

The first chance she got, the first time the train stopped

In a small worn-down town

It would be too easy to spot a new face there she couldn't get off yet

The book is staying dry

That's all that matters

She normally loves cold

When it's natural cold

There's something about this windswept thunderstorm cold

That just isn't natural at all

Her fingers burn with cold, all heat seeping out of them, no amount of cellular respiration being able to ward off the rain

They slowly go numb, the most excruciating sort of numb

Then her palms

Then her wrists

Then her forearms

She wonders how much longer she can go on

If she died of hypothermia right now

Or if she couldn't hold on anymore and fell onto the adjacent rails

(Under rain-slick wheels)

I guess that would be the end of this story

And the story doesn't end until next year so

She makes it

To the other side of the storm

The sun peaks through the clouds

Shining on her strawberry-blonde hair which shines in return