The Killing Ground

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Icy pellets of windblown rain ticked against the awning, whipped around by the swirling November winds. The woman pulled the collar of her thin raincoat up around her face in a futile attempt to block the onslaught of cold wind. She hadn’t expected the drop in temperatures this early in the season, and her regular evening walk from the office to the house she shared with her wife no longer held its normal appeal. She cast a desperate look at her phone. Call ended. She swore silently. According to the sterile voice on the phone, the wait for a cab was just under ninety minutes. She shoved the phone back into her pocket and cinched the tie of her coat as tightly as she could, but couldn’t quite close the gap entirely. She mentally chided herself for the weight gain since last year. Throwing back her shoulders and burrowing her chin into her chest, she took a tentative step into the icy rain. She knew that she could either wait for the cab, or if she hurried, she could be thirty minutes into a hot bubble bath before the cab even hit the spot where she huddled away from the cold.

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