Snow Angel

There was something about her, as she sat smoking on the park bench. The way the cold didn’t bother her, like the snow around her was simply dust. The way her eyes watched the horizon, like the buzzing streetlight was a radiant sunset. The way she never lifted that cigarette to her lips, a statue frozen on that bench.
There was something about her that made her so serene, so peaceful that the passerbys never thought to call the police. So she sat the whole night before they found her frozen dead body, less peaceful in the harsh morning sun.