No. 442

The heavy snowfall did nothing to improve his mood. Derek Saunders closed the blinds and retreated back to the couch and blanket. It was dark outside, and he’d missed daylight again.

The only illumination in the room was the toxic glow of the television, a show he’d already seen three times.

He checked his phone. No messages since before he’d fallen asleep. Not that he was expecting any.

Restlessness gnawed at him, and he checked the window again. The streetlight at the end of the block reflected off of the individual flakes. He watched them land, and merge with the thick layer already on the ground. It was now piled up past the wheels of his car in the driveway.

A short time ago, it had been summer. Derek Saunders missed summer.