A bone-chilling November wind struck against Max’s face. He tucked up his coat’s collar, close to his mouth, and let out a long warm breath. He could smell faint traces of his breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast. Earl Grey tea with honey and lemon. The mom usual. Max continued to brave the early winter wind, his shoulders hoisted up. His sad eyes reflected his thoughts. Saturday morning with nothing to do. He couldn’t stay in the house any longer. Mom was in a foul mood. Felt like she had been every day since the divorce, long before that too. Max thought of turning back home but pressed on. The cold wind felt right as it numbed him.
This is my entry for Fox Tales Week #3.