I stood. He was at the door. A shovel in his hand had dirt on it. I stared at the shovel.
He said, “Get in the truck”
I did.
The truck was blue, but tonight it was black because of the sky. In the country there isn't any streetlights to show me the truck was blue. It was dark when he stopped driving.
He said, “Get out.”
I did.
It's getting cold. I ate my sandwich. The sun light is pretty. It's still cold though. Too. Cold. I want a pair of gloves. My ears and nose are itch from the cold. Now they burn. Why is it so cold?
It's dark when he comes back. I see his lights, and even though I'm so cold it hurts to move I jump on the side of the road so he sees I'm still here. The lights look away from me and there's a crunchy thud. It's a white car. It's hit a tree. No one is moving inside.
The back door is hanging open. I don't want to be by dead people, but I'm so cold. There's no snacks in the car. I'm so cold. Right now the seat is warm, so I lay on it. Just for a little while.
I close my eyes.
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