Drifter

The snow drifted out of the sky. Silent. White. The street lamps were surrounded in harsh, Cherenkov blue, halos. There was no sound.

She drifted along the street. She left no footprints in her wake. Her black Victorian funeral dress made her look like a cut-out.

Licking her ruby-red lips, she spied the homeless man tucked into the doorway of a shuttered business.

Breakfast.

She glided towards the prone man huddled in his dirty sleeping bag. Her irises glowing red as she gently bent over him, clamping a steel cold hand over his mouth to stop the screams.