February was unusually hot this year, but today, the forest stands frozen. Pinyon nuts bow their heads. Gnarled branches groan above. Scarlet ignores their creaking, her eyes watering but fixed on the white blanketed path that climbs ahead.
The world is muted but for Scarlet’s raspy breathing and measured steps, noise can’t hush her thoughts. Her fortune, last night, read, No one with intelligence resents the inevitable. Perhaps not, Scarlet muses, but how many lifetimes are wasted in fighting it?
With that, loud splintering echoes from the Pinyon-pine canopy. Scarlet stands still this time—resisting the compelling urge to look up.
* A drama in 100 words.
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