First ice
It was a cold December morning in the city of Stalingrad. The town clock struck eight and cracked the ice in contact with the metal. As the cold Russian hammer hit the icy bell to awaken the frozen city, a lonely woman was the first person to walk in the silence after the eighth strike.
Every step she took she made a quiet crunching as her feet sank into the snow. She continued to walk to the phone booth to make a phone call. One of the sleeves of the fluffy white coat rose gently up to the handle of the phone and out popped a warm hand, as she touched the frozen handle the ice started to melt. The door was frozen so she had to give the door an almighty pull to get it open. As she pulled it, bits of ice fell from the door frame.