The Bite

There stood a red bricked-house, semi-detached, with a golden sheen licking its exterior. It still looked beautiful, common but beautiful, even as the floral netted curtains restricted my view. Who lived there? Were they happy? Rich? Poor? Lonely? Did it even matter?
Tearing my eyes away from the single glazed windows, where through the netting, I could see the frost clawing at the sides of the glass, I creaked my back and rose from the damp sofa. Bending down took several minutes, but eventually I was low enough to turn the gas fire on. Click. Click. Pow. Crackle. Ah, warmth. I rubbed my hands together, imagining my icy little bones sighing in relief.
It only took a minute for the pound sterling symbol to spring to mind. Ah! Off! Off! It was out. My hands were cold again. The bitterness clung to my broken bones, like fire to lumps of coal, and standing there, hunched over, in this barren, misunderstood room, I suddenly felt like sleeping.

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