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Summary
The collision occurred on an exceptionally brisk winter evening, the sun long fallen and the wet eager to take its place. Up in the sky was a deep blue gradient, the clouds painted out from their canvas in a faded black. Florian stood before a desolate cabin, the rays of warmth shining through frosted windows and onto a shaded face. In one hand, a rosary, hidden snug within his pocket. The other, a letter, addressed to his home directly.
‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’
Florian’s hand raised, a tightened grip crinkling the letter, ghosting the wood of the door. His breath came out in slowed, visible puffs.
‘Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.’
Then, he knocked. A gentle, rhythmic rap of reddened knuckles.
‘Amen.’