The Long Walk

He pulled the cold air into his lungs; held it for a little, warming it; and released a long, slow breath of steam. He pulled on the short warm gloves, took a step or two across the platform, and stared out vaguely at a few high pines. He flexed his fingers. He stretched his neck. He entertained a smile. As the train's noise faded into the dim gray distance, he stuffed his gloved hands into lined pockets, hunched his shoulders against the chill, strode down the steps to the crusted ground, and trudged off, head down, eyes turned inward. It would be a long walk.