I started a small writing club with a couple friends where we write 100 word “stories” every other week based off of a word, or phrase. I had chosen heat, and wrote about three different scenarios but only shared one. I wanted to post this one on here to maybe get some feedback, or maybe so I can get a feel of it posted on something other than a piece of paper:
The same breath you used to cool down your soup, I used to warm my hands. We both drew in to bellow the fire, as if to extinguish a candle. Our short breaths, instead, encouraged a flame.
Your absence is the want of breathing, a lack of heat, that no amount of skins or fires can warm.
My bones are icicles as I huddle in this carcass, my last attempt for warmth and surivial. They said a man could survive the north. They said man could conquer the frozen tundra. But without your heat to keep me burning, I don’t see much hope.